Gangster
by Jigglywigglypuff
Summary: Harley Quinn falls in love with a gangster and is seduced into a life of crime, money, and mayhem.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

She wondered how she arrived at this point in her life. She remembered and forgot quite frequently. and even her past had started to become a blur in her head. Slowly, she started to forget her previous life as the madness of her current state consumed her. Slowly, she began to forget who she was, everyone she cared for, what made her unique as a person. She could only clearly remember meeting him, the reason for her madness. The one who changed her life. The one who caused her to leave and forget who she was.

Now she was Harley Quinn, and whoever she was before was gone. And as she sat on the cold leathers of the Lamborghini she passengered in, she looked at the reason for her madness with wide eyes and a quiver to her red lips. She felt her heart race as she stared at him, felt desire and fear simultaneously dwell within her. Her thoughts mixed with the sound of the obnoxious revving of the vehicle, as well as the pounding of her heart and the shallowness of her breath.

For a moment, he took his eyes off the road and met her gaze, in which a grin tugged at his deep crimson lips, his eyes narrowing hypnotically as he met her fascinated gaze.

"Are you afraid?" He simply asked, his voice low and coarse. The blue in his irises glistened, the shadows of the night enhancing his beautiful jawline.

Harley giggled, repositioning herself on her seat, leaning herself forward a bit in hopes to appear more sexy.

"No Mistah Jay," she said merrily, as her heart continued to race. "I just never been to a place like this before, ya know? And now everyone will know I'm ya girl."

He chuckled deeply as he returned his gaze to the road, continuing to laugh, a little more profoundly now. His pale hands gripped harder on the steering wheel. He gave her another quick glance.

"You think you're my girl?"

She blushed, looking down at herself now, smoothing her hands over the fabric of her short black dress. She didn't know how to respond at first, but quickly she looked back up at him, her mouth torn between a frown and a smile.

"Well, ain't I?"

He laughed again, not even bothering to look at her. Instead he left his hand wander to her cheek as he pinched her a little too hard to be affectionate. Her lips parted at the gesture. His hand was cold and pale, and from her face he allowed his touch to roam down her neck, over her breast, stomach, until he rested on the bare skin of her thigh. Roughly, her squeezed her.

"Baby, you'll soon see your place in this world."

She flinched at the sudden touch. His hand remained on her, and nervously she placed her hand over his and pushed down so he could squeeze her once more.

He turned his neck sharply and gave her a look, one she could not read. She returned an innocent glance, batting her thick lashes, pressing her lips together.

He dug his fingers harder into her skin, causing her pain, but she dared not say anything. His eyes returned back to the road.

"Be careful Harley," he warned her quietly. "Daddy doesn't like to be teased." He then grinned madly, yanking his hand away from her. Harley gasped lightly at the loss of contact.

She remained silent as she gazed out the window and soon found herself sinking in her seat. He had slowed down his manic driving, and she saw a building with bright lights that beamed "Assets" in pink neon.

Without thinking she blurted out, "Are there naked ladies in there?"

Before she could have time to regret her words she was answered with a dramatic laugh. She snapped her neck towards him nervously.

Stopping the car in front of the building, he gazed at her. His green hair shone gently in the moonlight. His eyes were dark, a smile painted on his lips. She followed the handsome curve of his shoulders, his violet shirt unbuttoned obnoxiously down his chest.

"No," he answered bluntly. The smile then left his face as he unlocked the doors, Harley jumping a bit at the sound.

"But I'm thinking I'll see at least one tonight." And then he winked at her, and a heaviness filled her chest.

She giggled nervously as he turned off the engine, and there she could hear the raucous going on outside. As he stepped out the car she took a moment to take in a few deep breaths, until he arrived at her side and opened the door for her.

"After you, doll face," he beamed, dramatically extending his arm to signal her exit. Clutching her bag, she stepped out the car, needing a moment to balance on her heels and pull down her dress. It hugged her body painfully tight, a feeling she was not used to with clothing. He didn't hesitate to take her hand, leading her forward before he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

He whistled, placing his fingers in his mouth. "Jonny!" he screeched, and the main immediately took head of the command. He approached the pair quickly, as if he had been waiting for them.

Harley smiled at him, as he seemed tired yet alert, the beard on his face scruffy.

The Joker threw him his keys, and he caught them in both hands.

"Park the car in the back, don't let the cops see you." And he winked while Jonny nodded in obedience.

"Yea boss, no problem."

As he scurried towards the car, the Joker returned his gaze down at Harley, his grip on her hand tightening.

"You ready to party like a gangster?"

He stared at him, fear and excitement building in her belly. She could hear the music from inside the building. She felt the storm of people coming in and out and the commotion that came with it. She saw beautiful women, well dressed men. She heard laughter and yelling simultaneously. And as he waited for her answer, his eyes burned through her.

"Yes, Puddin'," she replied, and with that he grinned at her.

As they made their way inside, she continued to wonder how she got here, trying to remember. What led to this moment? How she had arrived with bleached skin and the ends of her blonde hair colored pink and blue. How she was under the embrace of the most feared man in Gotham city.

She wondered how she had fallen madly in love with him. And again how she ended up here, slowly forgetting who she was.

~oOo~

The seduction began with their first session. She didn't realize it, but he knew what he was doing.

She remembered the way he looked at her, solemnly, his sunken eyes bleeding into her soul. And from the first session she felt uncomfortable, in a way she couldn't understand. She felt something strange, something magnificent, and something horrible.

The room was a dull grey, from the table that separated them to the walls. He sat across from her in a straight jacket, as she held her notebook and pen timidly. Using her knuckles to adjust her glasses, she cleared her throat, returning his gaze. Without realizing it, she began to click her heels nervously on the ground, the sound disturbing the silence of the room.

"Mr. Joker," she spoke in a clean, calm manner, "We've been in here 20 minutes and you have barely said a word to me. This is your intake session. You haven't answered any of my questions. I need to know your history before I can begin treating you."

He had sat hunched, but at her words he smiled and leaned himself back against his seat.

"I have no history, doc," he spoke softly yet solemnly. "I ain't got any answers for you. So maybe we can skip the intake and you can start treating me."

He winked at her. Oddly, she blushed and crossed her legs skittishly.

"Mr. Joker, everybody has a history. We can begin by telling me your real name." She held her notebook and pen attentively, as if expecting him to answer her.

"You know my name, toots," he beamed, glaring at her with a lift of his naked brow bone. "I'm the Joker. But you can call me whatever you want." Again he winked at her. She squirmed in her seat.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop doing that."

"Doing what?" He feigned innocence.

She was about to retort but quickly shook her head. Placing her notebook and pencil down, she leaned forward onto the table, clasping her hands together and did what she would eventually regret doing and looked him directly in his eyes.

Maybe this was where her madness slowly started to begin. The way he looked at her...his soul stabbing gaze. It was entrancing, horrifying, yet addicting. For a long moment, she found herself lost in his eyes, and he knew very well what he was doing to her.

She tried to force herself out of her trance. "Do you even remember your real name?"

A tiny smirk curved at the corner of his dark mouth. "Honestly, babe, I can tell you a million stories I've conjured up over the years about my past life. Not sure which version is true. Twenty years of this life, you forget who you were. I only know who I am now."

"And who is that?" she asked him, a bit intrigued.

He leaned forward as did she. Though the table separated them, she could faintly feel his hot breath touching her face.

"I'm the king of Gotham," he gleamed.

"The King of Gotham? Do you have any other delusions you'd like to share?"

The Joker laughed slowly yet high pitched, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

"Oh Dr. Quinzel," he gleamed. She could see his arms stiffen underneath the straight jacket. "I ain't delusional. You know it, the whole God damn city knows it."

She placed her pen at her lips, tapping it lightly. "I don't see a king," she noted. "I see a ruthless gangster."

He stopped laughing and opened his eyes, gawking at her.

"But I see a lost soul inside you, and I believe I can help you if you let me."

She could hear him breath deeply, a growl rumbling in his throat.

"You wanna help me?" he asked, and for a moment she thought he was almost sincere.

"Yes, I truly do. But I need you to talk with me. We have to get through this intake session before anything."

She paused, finding his eyes again. "So please, tell me your name."

He breathed heavily through his nostrils. "I'm the Joker, baby. And that's all you need to know."

~oOo~

Though she was finding it harder and harder to remember her previous life, she knew it was a sheltered one. This environment was absolutely new to her, from the multitude of colored lights to the smell of expensive cologne and alcohol. As the Joker led her to to a more private area, she watched women in bikinis dancing on tables, Despite stares from men, they were mostly ignored as the multitude of people drunkenly danced to the loud hip hop music that consumed the building.

Harley frowned. "Puddin, I thought you said there'd be no naked ladies here."

He didn't answer her but squeezed her hand, resulting in a flinch from her.

They arrived at a private booth behind a curtain of beads. However, they were not alone.

The booth was small, adorned with a glass table surrounded by black leather couches. Two men sat together. Both young, white, and handsome. They were dressed well, with pressed black pants and matching black blazers. Harley assumed they were henchmen of the Joker, as they immediately stood up simultaneously at his presence.

They seemed strange to her, as they stood up sloppily, wiping their noses and their eyes. The Joker laughed at them however, dragging Harley to a couch opposite from them and sitting down. Carefully, she sat down beside him.

"Boys, sit your fucking asses down," he ordered, in a tone that sounded playful yet deadly. A grin consumed his face. They obeyed his command and resumed to their seats. Harley watched them carefully, her eyes then scanning the table to see a line of white powder neatly piled.

She gulped, quickly removing her eyes.

"Gentlemen, this is Harley Quinn," Joker suddenly announced, as if sensing her unease. With those words, he laced an arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him.

"She's my new sidekick. She's the Robin to my Batman."

And immediately hysterical laughter erupted from his throat, and his henchmen joined in carefully. As he bellowed, the Joker pulled Harley closer to him, to where her thigh was pinned against his.

"Harley, this is Hunter and the fine gentleman next to him is Drake."

Each man extended their hand to greet her, but Joker shot them a deadly glare. Swiftly they put their arms down.

"Nice to meet you Miss Harley," spoke Hunter carefully. Drake nodded, "Yea J had told us a lot about you."

Another soul crushing glance from the Joker this time directed at Drake. Harley squirmed in her seat.

"What do you want to drink, Harls? Drake will get it for you since he knows so much about you."

Harley laughed nervously, shaking her head. "No, I'm alright Puddin. I'm not much of a drinker."

"If you're gona hang with me you will become a hell of a drinker," he snapped, narrowing his gaze at her.

"Vodka tonic." Shes spoke almost immediately. There was a short silence for a moment.

"Drake, you heard the girl. Get your ass up and get her a vodka tonic."

Immediately Drake stood up, almost losing his balance. "Yes, Boss," he beamed as he stumbled out of the private booth.

Joker grunted heavily, pursing his lips. He eyed Hunter, raising his brow bones.

"You goons decide to get high off your fuckin minds before I even arrive? Is this what I pay you for?"

A bead of sweat formed on Hunter's forehead, all eyes on the untouched line of the table.

"Sorry boss, we-"

"Harley, take a hit."

The girl froze. All muscles tightened on her body. She could feel J's breath hit her naked shoulder. She met his gaze. He wasn't smiling.

"A hit of what, Puddin?" she asked innocently.

Another smile engulfed his face. Slowly, he cupped her chin and pressed his nose against hers.

"Don't act dumb. Let me guess, your not much of a druggie either huh?"

Harley chuckled nervously. "I've never done it before," she confessed softly.

"Tonight yer going to do a quite a few things you never done before."

She felt her groin contract at his words, a hot heaviness filling her chest. Forgetting they were not alone, she closed the gap between them and kissed his mouth.

He pulled away from her, the paint on his mouth smeared down his chin. She couldn't tell if he was pissed or excited.

"Take a hit," he ordered again. This time he grabbed her chin and kissed her, very harshly, until he pushed her off of him.

Her breaths were heavy now, and she turned to look at Hunter who sat hunched forward. He blinked frequently as he watched.

Slowly Harley stood up and made her way towards Hunter. He scooted over and she knelt on the carpeted floor, feeling the friction on her knees. Staring at the white powder on the table, she moved her gaze briefly to J. He saw the fear in her and smiled.

"I'm not sure how to..." she trailed off.

"Here's your vodka, Miss Harley."

She felt a short moment of relief as Drake stumbled back into the booth, holding the glass. The moisture of the cold drink made his hand damp.

He saw Harley at his spot and frowned.

"She's taking the last line?"

"Yes," Joker shot back harshly, making himself more comfortable as he sloppily crossed his leg and leaned back against the seat. "You got a problem with that?"

Drake shook his head obediently. "No, Boss, of course not." He handed Harley her drink across the table. She nodded in gratitude.

Slowly she drank from the glass, taking her time. Removing her lips from the drink, her eyes squinted as her face squirmed from the strong taste of the vodka. She caught the intense gaze of the Joker, who seemed to be marvelously enjoying this.

"Drake," he ordered, "Go show Harley how it's done."

The man sat beside her now, and she looked at him with trepidation.

He demonstrated the movement to her, in which Joker chortled, his laughter erupting now.

Harley didn't know how to feel. Was this a joke to him? She furrowed her brows at his hysteria, slamming her hands down on the glass. Quickly, the Joker stopped laughing, narrowing his eyes to stare at her. She watched his demeanor change as she repositioned herself on the ground, pushing her chest forward, pieces of blonde and blue locks falling in front of her face.

He watched her with intrigue now, and she could see his chest stiffen underneath his shirt, the gold chains he wore glistening under the dim blue lights.

Her eyes never leaving his, she lowered her face onto the table, her heart palpitating, lips quivering. And in one swift motion, she did exactly as Drake showed her, inhaling the white powder and immediately throwing herself back, her head hitting the couch behind her.

Silence consumed for several dreadful moments as Harley remained in her position, head spinning. She felt a spike in her chest, her eyes opening widely. Blinking repeatedly, she tried to get control of her current state, but was unable to. Instead she reached for her glass of vodka tonic and drank - no gulped down the rest of the drink in seconds. She threw the glass down to the floor. And then, as she threw her head back, she burst out laughing.

Nothing made sense, and it didn't matter. The room was still spinning but it felt wonderful, like she was on a ride at a carnival. Harley tried to stand up but just fell back down, remaining in her blissful hysteria.

"Boss, is she alright?" Hunter asked quietly, as the two men next to her watched in horror.

Joker smiled however, clasping his hands together and resting his chin there. "Oh, she is perfectly alright."

When Jonny entered the booth holding the keys to the Lamborghini, he paused for a moment, staring at the girl who sat messily on the floor, giggling madly.

"Frost, help the lady up and bring her to me."

The look of confusion never leaving his face, he went over to Harley, extending his arms to help her up. But then she stopped laughing and slapped him across the face. Jonny was taken a back, staring down at her with a raised brow.

"Get your hands off of me, only Mistah J can touch me," she squealed, and then looked at the Joker, her eyes glistening with seduction.

"If ya want me to come back there Puddin you have to come get me yourself."

Now she laid herself down on the floor. Extending her arms and legs to elongate herself. "I'm waitin!" She began to laugh again.

All three henchman just stared at her now, finding her to be almost as crazy as their boss himself.

"This is ridiculous," Jonny mumbled, taking a seat next to Drake.

The Joker leaned forward in his seat, collecting himself before he stood and carefully walked over to Harley. Kneeling before her face, he smiled softly at her. She blew a kiss to him.

"Get up, Harley."

She laughed. "Make me."

She twiddled her fingers, inviting him to pick her up. Instead he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her up.

He continued to smile at her, gripping her shoulders more firmly, pressing down at her skin painfully.

Then, with one swift movement, he slapped her across her cheek.

Her head was spinning madly, she couldn't comprehend what was happening. She could only continue to laugh.

He returned the gesture to her other cheek, slapping her harder. His henchmen watched in silence, the sound of Harley's laugh consuming the room.

Pulling her up off the ground, he dragged her back to the couch, throwing her down and resuming his seat. She sat next to him smiling, both her cheeks burning a crimson red. Her hair was thrown all about her face, her dress started to slip down her chest.

Scooting herself closer to the Joker, she entangled her arms around his waist, pressing her mouth against his neck.

"Mistah J, I want another drink," she cooed. At his naked flesh she brought out her tongue and licked him slowly. His skin was cold, and her sudden warmth made him flinch.

He allowed her to touch him for a while, as her licks became kisses and her kisses became sucking. A quiet deep chuckle remained trapped in his throat, his hand finding her thigh again. This time he coyly crept up her dress.

She continued to suck on his neck, laughing in her mind. The music was so loud, and J's neck tasted so good and she didn't know why. At that moment she didn't know who she was, but knew who she was with. Tonight she saw a real glimpse of her new life and what it entailed.

~oOo~

"Joker, in the few sessions we've had I've heard about three different stories about your childhood."

Dr. Quinzel's statement was bleak, her palm rubbing at her forehead in exhaustion. She looked at her patient across from her, who could only shrug innocently in response.

"I've heard your father beat you. I've heard your father left when you were an infant. I've heard your mother gave you up to the circus at birth." She sighed, shaking her head. "I've had enough with the jokes. I need you to start telling me something factual."

The Joker just grinned, highly amused with himself. "I told you, toots, first time we met. I don't remember that life. It's history."

"Well if you don't remember who you were, can you at least tell me how you became who you are now?"

He eyed her carefully, not sure how to respond to her proposal.

"That's really private, doc," he said quietly. "I'm not sure if I want to share something like that with someone I barely know."

"I'm your doctor," she retorted, trying to give him some sort of comfort. "I care about your betterment."

"What about you tell me a little about yourself first? Maybe I'd feel more comfortable then."

He smiled, but she was not pleased.

"There is no reason for that, Mr. Joker."

"Do you have a boyfriend, husband, a family?" He was persistent.

"No," she answered quickly and bluntly, then sat back in her chair, angry at herself for answering.

"Hard to believe a hot dame like you don't got a boyfriend," he replied, grinning at her, exposing his grill. She found herself blushing at his comment.

"My personal life is not relevant here."

"If you were my gal, I'd take real good care of ya. Show you a life you could never imagine."

She took his flirtation as a chance to find out more about him. "Oh really, and what kind of life is that?" Leaning her elbow on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm.

"Money. Power." He paused, narrowing his gaze at her, as if to seduce her. "Ecstasy."

The single word sent a chill down her spine.

"Is...is that what life is about to you? Power, money, and sex? Is that why you chose this life of crime?" She prepared her pen and notebook, ready to write down his response.

"I didn't choose this life, babe. It chose me." Again, he grinned.

"Very cliche answer Mr. Joker. Tell me how this life chose you?"

He sighed, sitting himself back against the chair, looking down at his restraints.

"It's a very endearing story actually," he chuckled. "It involves a young man, a Bat, and a dip into a bath of acid."

Dr. Quinzel was intrigued, as she found herself putting down her notebook and pen. "I would like to hear that story."

Their eyes met and locked. She could feel the danger that emitted from him, and yet there was a glimpse of longing in his eyes. And she feared she may have returned it in her own gaze.

"Better yet, maybe one day I can show you."

He winked at her slowly, another grin consuming his entire face.

~oOo~

It was a night she could never forget or ever remember. Her head was spinning the entire evening. It was a tumultuous mix of music, colors, and laughter. She wasn't sure but the Joker may have shot someone during the night.

She couldn't quite comprehend what was happening to her, but the effects of the drugs and alcohol carefully began to dim around four in the morning, when the Joker brought her back to their hideout.

It had only been a few days since her life forever changed. When she left the past life she was slowly forgetting. She still was not so certain where his hideout was, though she stared out the window on all of their trips, he took several unexpected turns, made sure even she didn't know where they were and how they got there.

It looked like an abandoned building, but she knew inside it was gorgeous. Like the rich life he had promised her. He parked the car behind the building, and there they sat for a moment, finally to the sound of pure silence. Carefully, J turned his neck to look at Harley, who had been staring at him intensely.

This may have been the moment where her head stopped spinning. She felt a serenity capture her. She took in all of his features, from his handsome angular jaw, to the depth of his deep blue eyes. She noticed the mark she left on his neck. Her eyes traveled down to his partly exposed chest, observing the tattoos that peeked out. Slowly she returned her eyes back to his face, his glare burning through her.

Their breathing was no longer silent, and J reached out to touch her face, still red from his earlier roughness. His touch slid down from her cheek to her neck, down her collar bone until he grasped the top of her dress, as if he were to pull it down.

Instead, he pulled her close to him, their faces inches apart. Harley half closed her eyes.

"Get out the car."

He pushed her back grimly, and she remained silent as he opened the car door and slammed it shut.

Hastily, she exited the vehicle and began to follow him.

The darkness of the night consumed the area, and nervously she followed behind the Joker as he didn't bother to wait for her. They entered the building from the back, traveling down the stairs to the basement. It was dark and quiet until he flipped on the lights, revealing the beautifully decorated apartment.

Though she had seen it before, the last few days had been such madness she had not the chance to fully take in her surroundings. It was magnificent, with a beautiful hardwood floor and grand expensive furnishings.

He didn't even look at her as he grabbed her hand and led her to the bedroom.

He was still cold, his fingers interlacing with hers. Oddly, his touch this time was gentle, and she felt her heart beat quicken as they entered the dark room. With a flick of his finger, he turned on the light, revealing a well made bed with satin purple and red sheets, a large television placed in front. The floor was carpeted red, and their footsteps were silent as they entered.

Here, J detached his hand from hers, unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way to the bathroom that connected to the bedroom.

She heard the sound of the sink running, and slowly she sat herself down on the edge of the bed, removing her shoes and pressing her knees together. She knew what was going to happen, and the thought both terrified and excited her. When she heard the abrupt stop of the running water in the other room, her breathing quickened, a heaviness filling her chest.

He reentered shirtless, holding a towel against his face as he matted it against the remaining droplets. His face was bare, yet his lips were still dark as well as the area under his eyes.

He looked down at her, while her eyes widened towards him.

"Why don't you go freshen up for Daddy," he spoke lowly, then threw the towel at her.

She caught it clumsily, nodding as she stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind her she dropped the towel and grasped the sink, staring at her bewildered, breathless expression in the mirror. Her face was a mess, red lipstick smeared past her lips, her eye makeup fading messily. Sweat formed around her forehead, the droplets traveling down her temples to her cheeks. She began to breath heavily, unable to exhale. Attempting to calm herself, Harley ran her finger through her hair, moving any strands away from her face. Turning on the sink, she began to hastily splash cold water onto her face, rubbing at her eyes and lips. The heavier the feeling in her chest grew, the more frenzied she threw the water onto her skin. Her knees where shaking now. And somehow, for some reason, she wanted to laugh. To laugh like she did in the nightclub earlier. However, she kept the sensation stifled in her throat.

She looked at herself in the mirror again. Her face was soaked and most of the makeup was removed. Grabbing the towel from the floor, she wiped the wetness from her skin, taking one final look at herself in the mirror. She dropped the towel and and with a shallow breath she opened the door.

When she reentered the bedroom, she saw he wasn't there, instead she could hear his muffled voice outside of the room.

"What do you mean the cops were there? How soon after we left?"

Harley sat at the edge of the bed, listening to him speak. She assumed he was on the phone.

"Drake, you better make fucking sure no damn fucking cop suspects a thing do you hear me? I put you goons there to keep the clients in check. I don't want no damn cops showing up again."

Though he tried to remain hushed, she could hear the ruthless anger in his voice.

"Oh and if I catch ya eyeing my girl again I will fucking shoot you in the groin, understood?"

She half smiled, strangely.

"Don't give me your bullshit you hear me? Now do your fucking job and control that place."

Harley grasped the sheets as the door creaked opened and Joker reentered the room, eyeing her carefully as he closed the door.

"You're still dressed," he spoke. She could tell he was still pissed. He threw the phone on the floor, then reached for the buckle of his belt, beginning to remove it.

She didn't respond but watched him with a timid intrigue, as he swiftly took off his belt and threw it down as aimlessly as he did his phone.

"M-Mistah J?"

Her voice was soft, and before he could remove his pants, his eyes shot down to her.

He waited for her to continue, but she found herself at a loss for words. Trepidation consumed her face as she gazed at him, her eyes tracing every curve of every muscle on his chest and shoulders, memorizing every tattoo that marked that pale, toned skin.

He observed her terrified state, and huffed a frustrated breath in return, letting go of the hem of his pants and running a hand through his green hair.

He chuckled, but it came out vehement. "Un fucking believable," he hissed, shaking his head at her. "You can sleep alone then, toots."

And as he turned to leave her in the bedroom, a maddening desperation took over her. She panicked, her body beginning to shake. No, she didn't want him to leave. She needed him here with her. She spotted a hand gun sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. Without another thought she grabbed it and squeezed the trigger, sending a loud bullet into the wall.

Joker turned around instantaneously, a mixture of rage and bewilderment capturing his face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he exclaimed, extending his arms in frustration.

Harley didn't drop the gun however. Instead she repositioned herself on the bed, her eyes never leaving his. Knees bent, she pressed her stomach down onto the sheets. The skirt of her dressed lifted as her derriere pointed upward, invitingly. She held the gun close to her face, and then with the narrowing of her eyes, She licked the side of the weapon. It was hot and burned her tongue, but she seemed immune to the pain.

Joker's gaze towards her changed as he cocked his head to the side, his chest lifting with his heavy breaths. His eyes widened as they locked with Harley's, and with a shake of his head he approached the bed and grabbed hold of her shoulders, lifting her up.

A high pitched squeak fled her throat as he pinned her down on her back, prying the gun from her hand and then smashing it against the side of her face.

She didn't cry, she didn't scream. Instead she moaned. And she felt the tremendous fear leave her body as the longing began to totally consume her.

"You crazy fucking bitch," he beamed quietly, and then cleverly smiled, throwing the gun onto the floor and plummeting himself onto her.

He wasn't cold now. No, he was warm. He felt so warm as he pressed himself on top of her. And immediately his lips found hers, pressing his mouth fiercely onto her. He kissed her deeply, and as he did so she wrapped her legs around his hips, entangling herself on him.

He swerved his mouth against hers, and with the part of her lips invited him inside. As his tongue caressed hers, she felt his hands travel along her body, his hands running up her thighs and underneath her dress. He pulled away from her in frustration, leaving her laying there breathless. He saw the gentle bounce of her breasts while her chest expanded and released.

"Take it off," he ordered her and with wide eyes she nodded, sitting up and grappling the end of her dressed. He watched for a moment as she struggled to remove the skin tight article.

With a dramatic groan and roll of his eyes he reached into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade, springing it open with a flick of his wrist. Harley gasped when he brought the blade to the top of her dress, slicing it down. She could see a fire in his eyes as the knife cut evenly through the fabric in a straight line. Her breasts were freed and all she was left wearing was a black thong. Without hesitation he brought the knife to the strap of her underwear, cutting it briskly. Harley removed it quickly, until she was left absolutely naked before him.

His breathing had accelerated just like hers, eyeing her eagerly. Her breasts weren't large but beautifully shaped, her nipples rosy and puckered. Her thighs were slender yet thick, while her waist resembled an hour glass.

She grew tired of him staring at her, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him down, trapping his hips with her knees. She pressed her body against him, and she could feel her nipples brush his chest, and feel his groin pulsing against hers. There she kissed him, more softly this time, tasting his lips, feeling him wrap his arms around her back. He bit down on her lip suddenly, surprising her, and he used that moment to regain his control and reverse their positions. He pushed her down brutally onto the bed, a gasp escaping her throat. And almost immediately he kissed her harshly, grabbing her wrists and pinning them over her head. She squirmed pleasantly underneath him, while his mouth traveled away from hers, sloppily down her chin and neck, leaving a wet trail as he smoothed his mouth over her clavicle, down between her breasts.

She gasped as she felt him travel further down her stomach, her navel. Feverishly, he let go of her wrists to separate her knees and kissed her inner thigh, carefully flicking his tongue against her skin. Her back arched, her hands finding his hair and grasping his strands tightly.

Too quickly, however, he abandoned the area, to her disappointment, and returned to her face, kissing her deeply, with more passion now. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and there he placed his hands on the small of her back, lifting her slightly and intensifying the kiss. Her moan was muffled against his mouth.

His breath was so hot now, and his hands felt like fire on her naked skin. She exhaled frantically as his mouth left hers and he trailed his tongue down to her left breast. Another sharp throaty gasp emerged from her, her body squirming underneath him as he continued to gloss his tongue against her nipple. He was slow and seductive. And with his tongue never parting her skin, he lifted his head slightly to make eye contact with her.

Hungrily, she met his gaze, her fingers painfully gripping the sheets beneath her. "Don't stop," she begged.

She could feel him smile, and then his licks turned to sucking, and there she found herself emerged in ecstasy, the center of her body beginning to burn and contract relentlessly.

Loud, deep moans fled from her mouth as he continued to fondle her, his thumb and index finger rubbing the erect nipple of her neglected breast.

His hand moved from her breast however, and traveled down to the center of her body. She began to tremble as she felt him begin to touch her there, while maintaining his mouth on her rosy peak.

He found her center of pleasure and carefully rubbed it, smoothing his finger over the small mound. His hand became wet as he caressed her at her most sensitive area.

A loud soprano moan erupted from her throat and she found the burning sensation beginning to grow, and grow, and grow to the point of no return. She felt the release of pure pleasure engulf her entire body. Madly she quivered underneath him, losing herself in the feeling, uncontrollable sounds and screams escaping her body.

Ferociously, she grabbed his neck and pulled him up to her face, pressing her mouth onto his. He smiled against her lips. And yet, powerfully, he removed himself from her. On his knees he watched her breathe heavily, a flush to her cheeks, her lips parted.

And now he grabbed the hem of his pants and looked down at her solemnly. Fiercely, her eyes widened, breath quickened even more. She watched intensely as he removed his covering and saw his longing for her. And before she could have another moment to process and appreciate his nakedness, he roughly grabbed hold of her and turned her around, her stomach and face pressed against the sheets. He forced her knees to bend, pulling her legs apart. He placed a hot palm on her back, pushing her further down.

Harley saw darkness at this point, and when she felt him enter her, she screamed, the sound remaining stifled against the sheets. It felt painful and forced, but as he began to move inside of her, the pain transitioned into pure pleasure. Intense pleasure. And the faster he moved the more intense it became.

She felt his hands grab her bottom, and he pushed himself harder into her, increasing his speed. She pulled at her own hair, her body tensing up. She was contracting around him and he could feel it. She never stopped screaming. That same burning sensation she felt minutes ago quickly returned. But this time it was bigger, bolder, more fervent. It grew and grew until suddenly she was consumed with pure ecstasy, lifting her head and screaming at the top of her lungs.

He continued to move inside her, faster and more frenzied. And as the sensation mellowed down it came back just as quickly, causing her to slam her head back down onto the sheets and moan heavily.

When she felt him move out of her she growled, turning herself around and pinning him down. Fervently she moved her hands along his chest as she positioned herself on top of him. She saw his eyes roll back into his head and she carefully lowered herself onto his hips, bringing him back inside her.

A low deep moan fled his mouth as she moved against him, her knees locking at his sides and quickly bobbing herself on top of him. Grappling her thighs, he lifted himself from the bed, never disconnecting from her. Holding onto her rear, he brought her closer to him, while she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs straddling him.

They continued to move against each other sloppily, passionately. Her lips found his once more, and messily she kissed him. He returned her gesture, now pinning her down onto her back, grabbing her knees and pushing them together.

Now he thrust inside her more vehemently, madly. And she felt it again, the pressure building in the center of her body, her center contracting and flexing against his member. She grabbed her hair harshly, throwing her head back, another trifling scream roaring in her throat as her body succumb to the intense pleasure once more.

And a few moments later, he felt his own pleasure overtake him, and he released inside of her, collapsing on top of her.

She wrapped her arms around him, and there they remained for a long while, breathing heavy, pale bodies glistening in sweat. When she kissed his shoulder is when he rolled off of her.

Harley still struggled to catch her breath as she noticed the Joker sit up, his chest expanding and releasing dramatically. He looked down at her, but didn't say a word. She didn't know if she should smile as she returned his stare.

Finally he spoke, in almost a whisper. "Still afraid?"

She shook her head, lifting herself up. "No."

"You will be soon enough."

With that he left the bed, opening a drawer to a dresser and pulling out a pair of sweat pants. She watched as he put them on quickly, then pulled out one of his dress shirts and tossed it to her.

Slowly, she put her arms through the sleeves but didn't bother buttoning it. He raised his brow bone in intrigue, while her glare towards him remained seductive.

He turned off the lights, leaving them in the darkness as he returned to the bed and laid down. Harley immediately attached herself to him. He didn't seem inviting of the gesture, yet he didn't pry her off of him either.

"Good night, Puddin," she cooed, nuzzling herself against him.

He sighed, and she couldn't tell if it was a pleasant motion or one of frustration. Carefully he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Watch your step in the morning. There's a gun on the floor."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Do you remember the first time you killed?"

The question caught him off guard. It had been a month since their first session, and he had been good about keeping his mental distance from her. But today, she seemed more persistent and blunt. She raised her brows at him. "Well?"

"The first one, yes," he answered. "But only the first one. The others are a blur to me."

Dr. Quinzel sighed, leaning back against her chair and rubbing at her temple.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"You really want to hear about my first kill?"

"Yes, I do."

"I thought you were trying to treat me, doc. Not sure how bringing up bygones is going to help much."

She sighed in response to his usual dodging of all her questions. These sessions were beginning to frustrate her. But she refused to give up on him. She made sure their eyes locked.

"Then maybe tell me what you feel when you kill?"

"I'm not a serial killer, babe. It's not just the killing that sets me off. It's kind of part of the entire package." He leaned closer against the table that separated them, eyeing her carefully.

"And what package is that?"

"It's called power, toots. And its one hell of a drug."

Inwardly she smiled, sensing this was going somewhere.

"So all the killing, and the robbing, and the drugs is about power to you?" She began to write down in her notebook.

But the Joker laughed, closing his eyes merrily. It brought a sense of foreboding to the room.

"Have you ever experienced the feeling of power? The thrill of others in fear of you? Wanting to join you just to get a small taste of what you have?"

"Like your henchmen," she observed.

"Yea, like those morons. Kissing my ass while one wrong move will get them killed instantly. But they risk it, because of the power."

"What about right now?" she mused, leaning forward onto the table as she clasped her hands together. "Do you feel you have power over me? Over this conversation? Do you feel power as you sit here in a straight jacket for four weeks?"

"I do," he muttered proudly.

She frowned. "How so?"

"Every session I set the tone. I control how you feel, how you react. I make you uncomfortable. That is power."

"I am not uncomfortable, Mr. Joker. I am trained in this field."

He smiled at her bravery, however. "What if I told you I was in love with you."

Immediately, she froze at his statement. She could feel the color drain from her face and slowly she lowered her palms onto her lap.

"Excuse me?" Her voice shook as she spoke.

He grinned, flashing her his silver grill. "Does that make you uncomfortable, doc?"

She didn't answer, but continued to stare at him solemnly.

"You may think I don't care much about these sessions," he spoke slowly, his voice lowering. There was a glitter to the blue in his eyes. "You may think it's all just a joke to me. But you are the highlight of this hell hole for me. When I see you walk in with ya hips swaying and your tight ass skirt. I forget I'm locked up in this loony bin."

Still speechless, her eyes were wide as she stared at him.

"And God if I wasn't in this straight jacket, my hands would be all over that perfect body."

"Stop," she finally ordered, taking in a deep breath.

"What's wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable? Lost your sense of power huh?"

And he chuckled lowly, while her heart pounded within her chest. However, she wasn't sure if it was from fear...or from excitement.

"I wasn't aware you harbored such feelings for me, Mr. Joker," she spoke as she tried to regain her composure. "Unfortunately as your doctor these feelings are very inappropriate."

"You wanted me to open up, didn't you toots?" He leaned his head towards his shoulder, feigning innocence.

"Yes, I do. But I hope you understand that these feelings are not reciprocated."

His gaze burned through her soul. She felt the urge to undo her bun, let her hair fall, take off her white coat. Suddenly she felt like she didn't want to be his doctor anymore.

She wasn't sure what she wanted to be to him at this point.

"You don't have to reciprocate anything," he said lowly. "I just wanted you to know how I feel." He pursed his lips, and then he winked.

"I'm not sure if you are being honest with me or trying to prove a point."

"Does it really matter?"

"It does, Mr. Joker. It does for your treatment."

"Ok you want honest?" He beamed, leaning back now. "Ask me anything and I will answer. Just today though. I feel like being generous."

She paused at his offer. watching him carefully. She assumed whatever personally historical question she'd ask him would be met with a ridiculous made up story. Her eyes focused on the tattoo on his forehead, spelling out "damaged."

"How many tattoos do you have, Mister Joker?"

He flinched. He wasn't expecting that. "Not sure, babe. I kinda lost count." A smirk found his lips.

"Getting one on your face is pretty bold," she noted. "Where else do you have them?"

"All over, toots. If you got me out of this straight jacket I could show you." Coyly, he winked at her.

Oddly, she blushed. "Why damaged?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Whaddya mean why damaged?" he mocked her.

"What's the meaning behind it? There's always a meaning behind a tattoo. Was it your first tattoo?"

As the smiled left his mouth, he glared at her provocatively, a subtle look of anger consuming him. "What the fuck do you think it means? It means I'm fucking damaged."

"How so? And why on your face? Why for the world to see? All your other tattoos can be easily hidden, but you chose damaged to be the one everyone would recognize you for. Why is that, Mr. Joker?"

She could tell she was pushing a button, as he was the one now becoming uncomfortable.

The Joker squirmed in his seat. "Not everything has to have a reason. Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes things are just the way they are."

"Why do you feel damaged?"

She wasn't letting this go and he was getting pissed. She saw a glimmer in his eyes. "I just am. It's just the way it is."

"It doesn't have to be that way." Her voice softened, as did her look towards him.

"There's some things you just can't change. And you'd be crossing dangerous territory even trying." His words sounded like a threat towards her. "I'd highly suggest not to."

She frowned. "If you let me in, I can help you. I know I can."

"You don't want to get inside my world. It will fuck you up. And then there's no turning back." Cleverly, he smiled at her.

She began to feel extremely uncomfortable, an anxious feeling sending an icy chill down her spine. Almost too quickly, she changed the subject, clearing her throat. "How are you feeling on the diazepam I prescribed you?"

Dr. Quinzel shook off the intense sensation of the moment and grabbed her pen and notebook again.

"Like a zombie, doc. Just like you want me."

She looked up at him somberly. "I'm going to start you on a moderate dose of clonazepam. It should help calm you down a bit."

"Since we are going for the gold here how's about some Vicodin?"

Her eyes rolled. "That medication is for chronic pain, Mr. Joker."

"It was worth a shot, toots."

~oOo~

She woke up the following day in the middle of the afternoon. A horrible pounding sensation pulsed at her skull while her groin felt dry and bruised. The room was dimly lit, and the first thing she saw clearly when she opened her eyes was the hole in the wall she caused last night.

And slowly she remembered, looking down at her naked self, wearing J's shirt like a jacket as her breasts hung naked and freely. Rubbing her eyes, she looked at the side of the bed adjacent to her and noticed it was empty. A frown took over her lips. She stretched her arms over her head, a yawn taking over her throat, and messily she rested herself back down, taking J's pillow and inhaling deeply, the scent of his cologne buried in the fabric.

Harley felt her heart flutter. It was a mixture of longing and fear. It had only been a few days since the madness ensued and her life forever changed. But all she could think about was last night. And how desperately she wanted to do it again.

She didn't know where he was or if he was even in the building. She didn't even know her way around yet.

She didn't even have any other clothes.

Buttoning up his shirt on herself, she slipped out of bed. She took hold of the satin sheets and fluffed out the wrinkles, making the bed properly. Spotting the gun on the carpet, she flinched. J hadn't even bothered to pick it up. Slowly she approached it, her knees shaking as she knelt down and placed her hands on the handle. The metal felt cold against her fingers. She held it as if she were ready to shoot it again, standing herself up. She had done it so easily last night, desperate to get his attention. But now she felt a sense of foreboding as she held the weapon, taking a careful breath before putting it back on the nightstand where it belonged.

Opening the door, she crept out of the bedroom, her bare feet now touching the cold hardwood floor. The floors squeaked a little as she walked, though she tried to move carefully not to make any noise. Harley could feel a breeze travel up her shirt as she roamed the vicinity, trying to take in her surroundings. She passed the kitchen and the guest room, until finally she could hear a small commotion in the main hall. Peaking over the corner, she saw J seated at the sofa, with his three men from last night surrounding him. They were all dressed comely, including J who wore a vest over his dress shirt, gold adorning his fingers and neck. His hair was slicked back neatly.

He sat leaning forward, his fingers interlaced. They spoke in a hushed manner, but she could still overhear parts of the conversation.

"We've got a huge shipment of ice coming in, boys, from our good old friend Angelo."

"But boss, hasn't Angelo been holding back from you? We beat the shit out if him. I thought we weren't working with him anymore."

"We ain't. That's why I've got a plan. I'm not the one for leaving unfinished business. We are going to off that fucker and take matters into our own hands."

What the hell was ice? Who was Angelo? As Harley pondered she noticed Jonny's gaze find her and she flinched suddenly.

"Hey, boss," he spoke, his eyes never leaving her. "You got company."

He motioned with his head and all men shot their necks in Harley's direction. She blushed, trying to conceal most of her body behind the corner.

The Joker smiled one of his frenzied, unreadable smiles. "Harley, so glad you could finally join us."

She made the motion to walk into the room, but he shot her a deadly glare and she stopped in her tracks.

"Boys, leave. We'll discuss this later tonight."

They didn't argue with him, but stood up promptly and made towards the exit. They knew better than to give one final glance towards Harley.

He refocused on the girl hiding in the corner and he smiled. "Come on over, Pumpkin."

Nervously, she approached him, her hands interlaced behind her back as she shyly sat down next to him. His scent was strong and overbearing, burning her nostrils.

"Good morning, Mistah J," she smiled, knudging his shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt ya meetin with the boys."

He observed her slowly, there was a bruise on her cheek from when he hit her with the gun. And she still smelled like sex.

She didn't expect him to pull her hair and bring his mouth to hers.

She went to wrap her arms around his neck but the moment was short lived, as he yanked her off of him.

"I wanted to talk to you," he spoke, running his fingers through her hair in manner that was gentle but could easily turn rough and painful.

"We need to get you a hook if your gonna be by my side," he finished.

She scrunched her hair, confused. As she suspected his fingers moved more harshly through her hair, tugging at her scalp.

"What ya mean a hook?" she asked nervously. "Ain't I Harley Quinn? Ain't I your girl now?"

He laughed however, removing his hand from her hair and now patting her cheek. "Toots, if you think I brought you here just to be my cum bucket you are going to be very, very disappointed." She frowned at his words.

"I got big plans for you, Harley. Your name is going to send a chill down the spines of every single person in Gotham. Right now you are pitied, you are a victim. You are being searched for." He grabbed her chin, smushing her lips, and began to shake her head side to side. Her eyes were wet as she stared at him. "And I'm the mean, mean villain who kidnapped the pretty little doctor."

He kissed her lips messily, briefly.

"But I got big, big plans for you," He repeated in a whisper.

She found herself fumbling with her fingers. "You gonna make me a murderer, Mistah J?" she asked softly, holding back tears. "You gona make me like one of your henchman?"

He laughed however, shaking his head. "No you won't be a henchman. You will be right next to me. If I'm the King of Gotham, you will be the Queen. But yes, you will kill. You will rob. You will cause mayhem." He paused. "You will be faced with the Bat."

She found excitement in his words, but she was still afraid. She was afraid to kill, afraid to make the final steps to claim her new identity.

"But first ya gonna need some clothes," he continued, breaking the silence as he looked down at her body hungrily.

"And shoes," she chimed in. "And makeup. And perfume. And some lotion."

"You already got a list?"

She nodded.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, smiling cleverly at her as he pressed down the screen and brought the device to his ear.

"Hunter, get your ass back here. I need you to run some errands." A pause. "No moron, I need you to pick up some necessities for Harley. She needs makeup and other girly crap."

Another pause. She could hear whining on the other line. "I don't give a shit if you're embarrassed. She's a fucking kidnapping victim she ain't leaving this house. You need to suck it up because nobody recognizes your worthless face and get her everything she needs. Get here now, and she'll give you her list."

Excitedly, Harley spoke up, placing a hand on J's shoulder. "Puddin, tell him to wait 20 minutes."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why the hell would he wait twenty minutes?"

She gave him a knowing look, undoing a button of her shirt.

He stared at her blankly. "Hunter, get here in twenty minutes. Not a minute sooner." Another pause. "I don't care if you're five minutes away. Fucking stall. If I hear you at the door I will shoot you in the fuckin' heart, understood?" Abruptly, he hung up the phone, placing it at the table before them.

Before she could say anything, he picked her up roughly, throwing her over his shoulder. She giggled madly as he carried her to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

~oOo~

"Mr. Joker, tell me a little about your relationship with the Batman."

Her comment was only met with a loud, bellowing laugh from her patient.

"I ain't got a relationship with the Bat," he snarked, continuing to chortle. "He's been getting in my way for decades. He's brought me to this dump more than once. But this is the first time I got a hot dame sitting across from me. Lucky me, right?" He licked his lips.

"So you both have been rivals for so many years yet you haven't killed him, how come?"

She raised her brows at him, catching him off guard.

"Believe me, I've tried. But he's too good of a joke for me to simply off him. I like good jokes."

"You spare Batman because he is a joke? Or because you haven't been able to kill him?"

"He's my favorite joke." He paused. "And I could easily kill him if I wanted to."

Dr. Quinzel nodded, jotting down some observances in her notebook.

"I've got a good joke for you, doc. Wana hear it?"

She looked up at him peculiarly, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose.

"I don't think it would be relevant here, Mr. Joker."

"Come on, babe. What's one joke?"

The room was cold, and she could feel goosebumps on her arms underneath her jacket. The Joker seemed unfazed by it. Though he had been locked up for two months, he still looked exactly the same as when he was first brought in. No sign of facial hair, no roots at his scalp indicating he dyed his hair that intense unnatural green. Even his brows remained bare.

She sighed in defeat, shaking her head at him. "Ok, what's the joke?"

He grinned. "What's the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?"

When she shrugged, he finished. "Snow balls."

Unexpectedly, she chuckled. Even though she had been intent at not reacting to whatever he was going to say to her.

He wasn't used to her smiling, and it caused his grin to widen. "Funny, ain't I?"

"It's very immature," she said, continuing to smile as another laugh escaped her throat.

"What about you, toots? You got a joke to share?"

"Joker, I don't think we have time for anymore jokes."

"Come on, it's only fair."

"I only know one joke."

He leaned back against his seat and smiled. "Hit me. I bet it's a good one."

She sighed, leaning her elbows on the table. "There was a lady who had a cat that was pregnant. She couldn't understand how the cat became pregnant so she invited a veterinarian to her home. She explained to him there was no way how her cat could be pregnant. She was always in the house and if they went out she'd be on a leash supervised. Then out of the couch the vet noticed that a male cat emerged. He asked 'What about him?' to which the lady angrily replied. 'Don't be ridiculous, that's her brother.'"

For a moment after she finished there was silence. But then, the Joker erupted into hysterical laughter. It was loud, vehement and crazed. Tears spilled down his cheeks, his head thrown back.

And Dr. Quinzel found herself joining in his laughter, hypnotized by the sound. They both laughed manically, tears streaming, the sound echoing throughout the entire room. It lasted for minutes, and as the Joker's hysteria died down, she continued to laugh, harder than before. She almost couldn't breathe, slamming her hands onto the table, burying herself in her elbows.

And he watched her solemnly, a smirk to his lips, amused at the sight of the hysterical doctor.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

At the constant banging at the door, Joker angrily stormed out of the bedroom, adjusting the hem of his pants. He was shirtless and hair frazzled, sweat gliding down his chest.

He opened the door manically to find Hunter standing there, scratching nervously at his brown hair. With a grunt, J dragged him inside.

"I'm going to fucking kill you! I said twenty minutes!" He grasped the man's throat, a lunacy taking over his eyes.

"Boss! It's been forty-five!" Hunter choked out. Joker hesitated for a moment, regaining his composure before releasing him.

"Harley, get over here!"

She came out with her body wrapped in the bed sheets. Quickly, Hunter turned his head away, as he could feel the anger taking over his boss.

As she held the sheets against her chest, she smiled nervously as he approached her. His mouth was pressed in a straight line, a mad glisten to his eyes. She was taken aback when he raised his arm and slapped her cheek.

She opened her mouth to gasp, but no sound came out. She could only look at him with wide eyes, comforting herself as she placed a hand on her swollen face.

"What are you doing parading around like some bimbo?" He roared. "Go make yourself decent!"

"But Puddin, I-"

He grabbed hold of both her shoulders now, looking down at her intensely.

"Find something decent and put it on."

Trying to control the fear that crept in her chest, she nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

~oOo~

"Let's talk about your teeth."

He was getting real tired of being in this straight jacket. But he tried not to let his frustration show. Instead, he smiled at the doctor, watching as she sat back, crossing her perfect legs, her arms folded together.

"My teeth?" he replied, and he shot her a toothy grin, revealing the entirety of his silver grill.

"They're all fake," she noticed.

"Not all of them, doc. Just most of them," he returned with a low chuckle.

"How'd you lose them?"

Her questions were becoming more and more blunt as each session passed. She started to speak to him less as a doctor and more like an interested bystander.

"Well, you know, doc. I ate too much candy growing up. Didn't listen to my dentist." He had made a habit of winking at her.

She half smiled though, adjusting her position in her seat. "No jokes, Mr. Joker. How'd you lose all those teeth?"

"How do you think? I got the shit beat out of me."

She wasn't expecting such a direct answer. "And by whom?" She almost sounded concerned, unlocking her elbows and resting her palms on the table before them. She could feel the coldness of the metal, the chill traveling from her hands up to her arms.

He laughed however, as he usually did. Looking away from her and to the side of the room, he smirked, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He glanced at her slyly.

"By our favorite neighborhood friendly Bat."

Dr. Quinzel narrowed her eyes at his confession, pressing a finger against her glasses to bring them closer to her eyes.

"The Batman did this to you."

"Yup. Happened years ago. It was one of our nastier rumbles. Knocked out most of my teeth."

A heaviness filled her chest. "I'm sorry," she spoke softly, surprising herself.

"Don't be sorry, babe. I think I kind of like this look better anyways." He smiled again.

But her sympathy for him remained consistent. "You've really been through a lot, haven't you?"

Her tone caught his attention. Usually he was the one making obnoxious advances towards her. But lately, the atmosphere of their meetings slowly began to change. She smiled now, spoke to him on a more human level. Her concern towards him was past professional. He was getting to her.

He inwardly leaped at the reverie.

"I really have," he answered her, allowing the features of his visage to fall until he appeared just as pathetic and solemn as she thought him to be.

"Ya see, everyone thinks that Bat is such a God damn savior. But you see what he did to my face. He's always had it in for me. Even before I became who I am now. You could even say he caused the madness in me."

She sighed, taking in his every word. She began to feel such sorrow and pity for him. Was he really just misunderstood? Did Batman really trigger the chain of events that led to who he was?

Resting her forehead against her palm, she rubbed at her skin. "I want to help you, I really do. I had said you were a ruthless gangster, but I see so much more in you. I am certain you can be helped."

She looked him in the eye now, and their gazes locked. "Tell me, how can I help you?"

"Some physical contact would be nice."

She scowled. "Mr. Joker, that is-"

"Doc, I'm lonely. Haven't felt the warm embrace of anybody who gave a shit in a long, long time." He lowered his head, his eyes mesmerizing. "I'm just askin' for a hug, a little peck on the cheek. Just something to remind me that I'm still alive."

She was silent; he could tell she was contemplating it.

"You said you care about me, didn't ya?" he continued.

"Yes but...that would be a highly inappropriate gesture towards a patient."

A seductive smile pursed his lips. "But I ain't no ordinary patient, am I doctor?"

She stiffened. "No," she found herself retorting without even thinking. "You're not."

An eerie, absolute stillness consumed the room for several moments. The doctor and criminal continued to gaze at one another, and the silence was broken at the sound of Dr. Quinzel pushing back her chair and rising from her seat. The solitude disrupted by her heels clicking against the hollow ground, the sound echoing throughout the walls as she approached him.

She had never been this close to him. She never felt safe to. But kneeling before him, for the first time they were face to face, and she searched his eyes while he gazed emptily at her.

And with steady arms, carefully she embraced him, and there she felt his head rest on her shoulder. He was very still against her. Eerily still. She held him for several moments before removing herself from him, regaining her posture as she stood and again walked back to her side of the table.

He could only gaze at her, longing and hunger consuming his visage. And for the first time, she returned the gesture with her own stare.

~oOo~

"What the fuck is primer?"

"It's what you put on before your foundation. I absolutely need it."

Hunter furrowed his brow as he sat on the couch next to an oddly dressed Harley, looking down at his I-Pad as he tried to compile her impossible list.

She was wearing J's sweatpants and another one of his dress shirts. Both were huge on her.

"And where am I supposed to find this stuff?"

"Beauty store," she beamed gleefully.

He groaned, looking over at his boss who was across the room, polishing several guns.

"Do as she says," he barked, before Hunter could even say a word.

He looked backed at Harley nervously. "What if I just buy one of everything, and you can pick whatever you need?"

The words were like a dream come true to her. A girly smile consumed her face. "Really?" She looked over at the Joker. "Mistah J can he do that?!"

"Whatever floats your boat, toots." He was barely even listening.

She snapped back at Hunter. "Do it."

Sighing deeply, he refocused on his tablet. "You need clothes? What's your size?"

"I'm a 6. And I need some underwear, bras, jammies, and some hot dresses."

He sighed again, rubbing at his forehead. "Oh God..."

"Oooh, can you do the one of each for that too?"

Hunter glanced over at Joker. "Hey boss, you don't think a lady would do a better job at this? Maybe you have someone on payroll? Isn't there something else I can do to be of better assistance?"

"You can go fuck yourself, would you rather do that?"

Hunter realized there was no way he was getting out of this. "Ok Miss Harley," he groaned, placing the tablet inside his jacket. "I think I got everything I need. Have the boss call me if you think of anything else."

"Can you bring me a pizza too?"

He sighed as he stood. "Yes."

"Just cheese. And I want it hot and fresh from the pizzeria."

"Ok Miss Harley, you got it." He was making his way towards the door.

"You better make it quick, Hunter," J said, finally turning his head to look at the man. "Only a few hours till everything closes." He smiled cleverly. He then pulled open a drawer at the desk where he polished his guns. Harley could see it was loaded with paper money. Her eyes widened. He must have had several drawers in several rooms like that.

He pulled out a wad of cash and placed it in Hunter's hands as he approached him, placing his palms over his.

"Here's ten grand. I want the receipts."

Obediently, he nodded towards the Joker. "Yea Boss, sure thing."

J snickered as she watched his worker leave and close the door behind him. He turned his attention towards Harley, who sat on the couch with a dumb smile on her face.

"You happy, princess?"

"Yes Mistah J," she cooed, "You spoil me."

Her cheek was bright red and a dark purple bruise pulsed at her jaw line.

"The boys are coming back later tonight, we're gona talk business. I don't want ya leaving the bed, you got that?"

She frowned at his statement, laying herself on the sofa and resting her chin and elbows on the arm rest.

"How come? I thought you was gona teach me how to be a crook."

"I am, buttercup," he answered, kneeling down towards her and pressing a finger against her nose a little too hard. "But not just yet. And not for this."

She frowned. "Who's Angelo?"

A heavy hot breath fled his nostrils. "You don't need to know."

"And if he screwed ya over how come you haven't whacked him yet?"

She could see the anger building up in him. "Watch it, Harley," he warned her.

"And what the hell is ice? Is that some kind of drug? Is it diamonds?"

Immediately, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her up. he could feel his nails digging into her flesh underneath the shirt she wore. Biting her lower lip in pain, she concealed a painful moan.

"You are pissing me off, Harley. You need to learn to watch your mouth. We ain't in Arkham anymore. You're a nobody right now. Just a brain damaged ditz who needs to mind her own business when she's told."

She felt tears well up in her eyes and she fought strongly to hold them back.

"Now," he continued, gripping her shoulders with even more ferocity, "I told ya, I am going to turn you into a champ. But right now, you are going to be a good girl and mind your fucking business. Do you understand?"

She gulped, feeling the dry lump painfully go down her throat. "Yes, sir."

He patted her cheek with a sinister kind of affection, and smiled bleakly. "That's what I thought." A deep sigh fled his nostrils. "Now take off those clothes."

She wanted to smile but resisted. "I don't know, I'm feeling kind of comfy in them."

She giggled but stopped when she saw J's face harden.

Without another word she began to unbutton her shirt, her eyes stuck on his. He watched her closely, slipping off the article to reveal her nude torso. Her skin was pasty and bare. A little too bare for him. He imagined her just as sloppily tattooed as him. A smile crept his mouth as he imagined all the possibilities of the permanent markings he would defile her with.

At the drop of her pants she was absolutely naked, and she sat before him with her knees pressed together, her feet fiddling against each other sheepishly.

Quietly, he knelt before her, catching her stare as he situated himself at her legs, placing a palm at each of her knee. Harshly, he pried her knees open, in which her body stiffened and her back arched dramatically.

His eyes continuing to capture hers, he held her knees, his palms smoothing over her skin. Slowly and with exaggeration, he licked her thigh. A loud breath burned her nostrils as he slithered his tongue up her leg, to the bone of her hip. He continued sluggishly up her belly then tracing the bones of her rib cage, leisurely leaving a trail of wetness over her breast, up her neck, and remained there for a moment, glossing his mouth over the nape of her neck. Her ear tickled at the friction of his touch.

Eyes half closed, she leaned her head back, and she found herself fondling her own puckered nipples. "Puddin," she sighed, "You're a tease."

She could feel him smile against her neck. He took her hands and removed them from her chest, and her eyes opened widely at the gesture.

However, he pried her knees open once more, this time pressing his tongue against the center of her body.

A piercing gasp emerged from her at the sudden contact, and she found her eyes closing as her face molded into absolute ecstasy and bliss.

Her entire center burned vivaciously, an intense wave of gratification overpowering her. His grip on her knees was coarse, digging into her bare skin as her legs began to tremble enthusiastically. He had easily found the center of her pleasure, the small mound of pure euphoria, and as his mouth caressed the tender area, loose moans departed from her mouth. They were throaty, deep moans. She didn't even realize they were coming out. Smoothing her palms over her breasts, she began to embrace herself once more. Her back was arched to the point of pain. But the pleasure was too strong, it blocked out any discomfort she endured.

She felt the ecstatic feeling of pure satisfaction take over her body more than once. It felt like one long, intense orgasm. His hands moved from her knees to grapple her thighs, smacking his palms hard onto her skin. He pushed his face further into her, consuming the center of her beauty, of her sexuality, suckling and glossing over the small delicate strip of flesh that sent her body into mad convulsions.

She wouldn't stop screaming, her face contorted into a mesh of pure joy. When he pulled away from her, he took hold of her knees again, this time turning her so she laid her back onto the couch. She watched with broad, impatient eyes as he hovered over her, locking her knees around his hips, pulling him close to her.

She grabbed his neck with force and kissed him hard, her teeth slamming against his, the friction of their mouths grinding against each other almost painful. Extending her tongue, she licked him from his chin to his lips, her hands squeezing his neck.

He unzipped his pants, and pressing against her harder, her legs still entangled on his hips, he entered her swiftly. She felt drenched and warm and he growled at the contact. A light shriek emerged from her throat he she felt him inside her, and as he began to move profoundly within her.

She kissed him again, repeatedly, not wanting to remove herself from his mouth, squeezing her thighs firmly against him. His movement became frenzied, as he grunted against her mouth. The faster he moved, the more she felt the burning sensation return under her belly. She threw her head back as the sensation took over her entire body once more. He felt so good, she didn't want it to end. She could come ten more times, she didn't care. She just didn't want it to end.

But it ended, as the pleasure took over his body as well, and he pulled out, finishing on her stomach.

Heavily they both breathed through their mouths, as Harley sat herself up, staring at the Joker with such longing in her eyes. She was ready to go at it again.

It took him longer than her to catch his breath, and he noticed her stance. She pressed her chest against him and kissed his lips. Her body glistened with sweat. She reeked of sex. She was covered in his fluid.

She could feel the mad drumming of his heart as she leaned against him. Attempting to kiss him again, he removed himself from her, detaching her entwined legs from his body, adjusting his pants and lifting the zipper as he left her for the bedroom. Like a dog in heat she followed behind him.

Immediately, he handed her a towel and shoved her towards the bathroom.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered. "And stay in here and wait for your presents."

~oOo~

Dr. Quinzel didn't know how to react to his confession. She wasn't even sure if it was real. He had mentioned it before, but this time there was a calm serenity to his voice. There were no jokes, no winks, no obnoxious perversions. Just his somber gaze. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table.

"You're in love with me," she repeated, void of emotion.

"I am."

Silence consumed again.

"Mr. Joker, if this is another one of your games-"

"I ain't playing games, doc." She saw his breath quicken by the rise and fall of his chest.

"I don't understand." Was he being serious? He looked deadly serious.

"You make me feel something I never felt before." His voice was low and raspy. "My life the last few months has revolved around these moments with you. I can't think about anyone or anything else."

He paused. "You make me want to change."

A twisting sensation knotted at her chest. She felt sick to her stomach, yet simultaneously elated, aroused. She found herself pressing her knees together, squirming in her seat. She felt hot in her lab coat.

"That's...That's wonderful news,"she managed to crack out.

But he shook his head. "I just spilled my soul to you, doc. The least you can do is tell me how you feel."

Her chest pounded wildly, she almost couldn't breathe. "I'm flattered, but..."

"Dr. Quinzel," he spoke again, a seductive tone to his speech. "I am madly, deeply, in love with you."

She gazed dumbfounded and speechless.

Licking his top lip, his eyes locked fiercely on hers. "I need to know if you feel the same way."

She became entranced in his eyes, lost in the hypnotic dull blue of his irises, drowned in the blackness of his wide pupils.

"I do," her lips moved without thought.

"I'm in love with you."

Her heart was beating so fast, and her breaths were so loud, she didn't even realize what was happening. It was as if she was being carried into his world of madness and hysteria.

And she wasn't thinking when she suddenly shifted from her seat, leaning her torso onto the table. He met her partially, pushing himself forward. Their faces were separated by inches, and she could feel his warm breath hit her skin. As their eyes locked, slowly they closed as she sealed the gap between them and brushed her mouth tenderly against his.

It was only an instant, before she carefully pulled away from him, maintaining the short distance between them. She exhaled through her mouth, the noise hushed yet audible. A sudden vehemence took over her and she kissed him again, more profoundly, feeling his mouth glide against hers, losing herself in the manic momentary passion.

She detached from him and slowly sat herself back down, reveling in horror at what she had just done.

He smiled at her warmly, however, but it didn't seem to ease her racing thoughts.

"I need you. I want to be with you," he continued to seduce her. Placing her index and middle fingers to her mouth, she could still feel his warmth on her lips.

"That's why I need to get out of here," he continued, his expression turning grave. "I have to get out of here. For us."

Her elbows planted on the table, she buried her face in the palms of her hands, feeling tears beginning to sting her eyes.

She was able to catch his hopeful glance.

"Will you do it, doc? Will you help me get out of here?"

A light, soft grunt evaded her throat, her chest continuing to rise and fall dramatically, her hands becoming wet from the sweat that beaded her forehead.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Leisurely she laid on her stomach on the bed, legs free and ankles crossed behind her. Her face was full of bright makeup, her forearms covered in swatches of different shades. Large luminous earrings dangled from her ear lobes, while the magenta hued dress she wore settled freely on her bottom, unlike the black dress she had forced on the previous night J got her that was two sizes too small.

Her feet were bare, toes fiddling with each other while her violet lipstick smeared as she bit down on another slice of pizza, the grease spreading on her lips and down to her chin. She didn't take heed or even seem to care however, as her eyes were glued to the large flat television before her.

"The police are still searching for the Joker from his escape from Arkham Asylum several days ago. With him believed to be is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, who was his psychiatrist at the institute."

Pressing her lips together, she oddly looked at the screen with interest, observing the pretty news reporter and then a picture of herself taking over the screen. It was her previous self, however, the one she could no longer recognize.

"If you see this woman, please contact the police immediately. She is perceived to be in very real danger."

She took another bite and laughed, twirling a strand of blue stained hair with her index finger. She was famous now, thanks to the Joker. And as she sat in a room overfilled with shopping bags, she didn't feel so bad about the danger all suspected her to be in.

The volume on the television was louder than what she would have liked. She made sure to keep it that way, hoping she didn't hear a sound of J and his boys through the door and would be tempted to listen in on the conversation.

However, no ruckus of the television could conceal the sound of a single loud gunshot. It echoed in the room, ringing through her ears. Her heart stopped at the sound, a powerful yet inexplicable sensation filling her chest. Sitting up, Harley suddenly found herself not sure of how to react. Should she be afraid? Should she hide? Turning off the TV, she sat in pure solitude for a moment. Her ears continued to ring. But there was no sound. No screams, no yelling.

And then the fear poured into her. What if it was the Joker who had gotten shot? The thought alone caused her feet to hit the carpet, the feeling of the fabric on her skin asperous and unpleasant. As she made her way towards the door, she could hear his voice warning her not to disturb them. But she risked his anger anyway. She needed to make sure he was alright.

When she quietly entered the main room however, she noticed a body on the floor. Not J, and not someone she recognized. A young man dressed comely, with dark blonde hair, and a bullet indented between his eyes. She noticed the blood drip on the hardwood floors, forming a small pool around the man, before she noticed the table full of money, and several other men surrounding J. The man himself sat casually on his seat, leg crossed over his knee, hair slicked back neatly while his purple shirt was indecently unbuttoned half way down his chest. Gold studs pierced his ears. And in his right hand he held his gun, his elbow resting on the top of the couch.

She recognized Frost, Drake, and Hunter. The other two who sat with him she remembered encountering at Arkham, but never learned of their names. They were all handsome and young, and finely dressed, just as the young man who lied dead before them.

She didn't understand, there was no commotion, no uproar she could hear that would have followed this. A minute had passed since she silently stood there watching in horror yet fascination. She stood behind the corner of the wall, blinking repeatedly to wet her eyes. She didn't know how to feel, unable to even move. Her gaze remained on the lifeless body.

"Dutch had it coming, Boss."

"Shut up, Drake. I ain't in the mood for your ass kissin'."

The Joker stretched his arms over his head, gun remaining casually in his grasp, as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes scanning each of his men carefully.

"Let this be a warning to all of you. I'm not playing games with this job. Being locked up in Arkham didn't make me go soft. You are all going to do as I say. I am fucking serious."

And he laughed. Laughed so hard he threw his head back in the mania. It was such a bellowing frantic laugh that engulfed the entire room. No one joined in is hysteria.

She couldn't watch any longer, swiftly but silently creeping away from the scene, a mad pounding consuming her chest.

"Harley, get back here."

His voice was loud yet controlled. The hilarity had ceased. A sense of fear and trepidation consumed her, as her body began to gently tremble. Taking a deep breath in, she pressed her palms down her dress to straighten the fabric, regaining her composure before reentering the room, allowing herself to be completely revealed to all.

She forced a smile to her face as all men looked at her. Joker's glare could have killed her.

"Hi boys," she beamed, waving nervously at them as she rubbed her knees together.

His men didn't respond, and Joker's gaze at her remained fierce as a smile cloaked his dark lips.

"Why so shy, babe? Come and sit next to Daddy."

Lightly she walked towards him, her eyes glancing at the body on the floor, as the blood began to encircle his corpse.

She caught his stare as she sat beside him, Frost shifting over in his seat to allow her room.

"Hey Puddin, I was just checking to see if you was alright," she giggled, running a shaky hand through her hair. She wasn't sure how obvious her fear was, but it felt like her entire body was consumed by an earthquake.

He took her hand, however, and entrapped her palms in his, tapping the gun lightly on her knuckles. The metal was warm against her skin, and she felt her body stiffen at the contact.

"You got nothing to worry about, dear. So kind for you to check up on me." He looked from her to his men. "Ain't she sweet, gentlemen?"

There remained a solemn silence.

"Harley, you already know Drake and Frost. And Hunter over there who did a marvelous job tonight getting ya toys."

She smiled nervously.

"These two fellows here are Rocks and Vito. You met them at Arkham."

Harley found her eyes narrowing towards them. She remembered them quite well her final day at the asylum. She could still feel their grip on her forearms. She couldn't tell who was Rocks or Vito, but she really didn't care. She already decided that she hated both of them, and they were one of the same to her.

"And this fine gentleman," Joker began again, this time slipping his arm around Harley and pulling her painfully close to him. "Is Dutch."

He pointed his gun to the dead blonde on the ground.

A sharp pain knotted at her stomach as she was forced to stare at the corpse once more.

"Dutch was only 25 years old," J continued, sighing sadly. Painfully, he pressed Harley even closer to him so her cheek touched his. "Tonight he made a really stupid move, didn't he boys? You see, Dutch wasn't on board with some of my plans and he tried to quit on me."

Snapping his neck, he looked directly at Harley, his nose pressed against hers. "And nobody quits on me."

The blue in his eyes pierced through her. It wasn't a romantic hue, the same color that had captivated her before. It was dark and pensive, void of any emotion but hate.

His words felt like a direct threat towards her. A dryness scratched at her throat, and timidly she tried to gulp away the feeling.

"Sounds like a moron to me, Puddin," she giggled timidly.

The maniacal glitter in his eyes remaining, his lips curved into a smile. She could see the silver in his mouth. "A big, big moron, sweets."

With the gleam in his eyes and their current position, he could have kissed her or choked her. She wasn't sure which one he'd do.

Instead, he patted her cheek, a finger trailing down her stained mouth, he dithered over her bottom lip. There she felt the fear mix with desire, and it created an entirely new feeling she had never experienced before meeting him. "The boys were just on their way out. And Drake and Hunter were so kindly taking Dutch with them, weren't you fellas?"

The two men looked at each other, sitting at opposite ends of the room. "You got the gloves?" Drake spoke.

"What do you mean if I got the gloves? I never got the gloves. The gloves is your thing."

"I ain't the glove God, why don't you have any fucking gloves, Hunter?"

"Because having the gloves is your job."

"Would you both shut the fuck up? I have gloves."

They looked at Frost, who shook his head slowly in frustration. Adjusting his collar, he collectively reached into the inside of his black blazer and pulled out several cleanly folded latex gloves.

It had only been several days but Harley caught on that Frost was the leader of the henchmen, it seemed.

She could feel Joker's anger building next to her, his furious aura radiating throughout the room.

"If this fucking body isn't out of my sight in the next five minutes, I am going to shoot the gloves off of all of you."

Harley watched as Hunter and Drake scurried to their feet, accepting the gloves from Frost and hastily putting them on. They approached Dutch's body with caution.

"Ok, I take him by the head and you grab his legs and we lift on three," Drake ordered, and Hunter nodded in accordance.

The room emptied as Rocks, Vito, and Frost assisted in the removal of the body. Only remained Harley and the Joker and a pool of blood on the floor. Harley had never seen so much blood before. It was darker than what she had imagined it to be. Almost black, like the juice of a cherry. It began to seep into the cracks of the wooden floor. The more she stared at it, the more it moved, trailing slowly.

"I told you not to leave the room."

Lightly, she gasped at his sudden words that disturbed the bleak silence.

With an aggravated sigh, she watched him toss the gun onto the pile of money on the table. Desperately she wanted to ask him about that too, but she knew better not to.

"I was worried about you," she answered him.

"How sweet," he cooed, but he didn't smile, only continuing to look at her like a madman. "But I don't need you to worry about me."

"Well I can't help it," she puffed, furrowing her brows. He was a bit taken aback by her slight boldness.

"You can't help it?" He repeated, an amused huff fleeing his nostrils.

"I care about ya, Mistah J."

She noticed his face distort with unease. She assumed he hadn't heard such a declaration from someone in a long time. Perhaps she had been the first during his career to show any sort of genuine affection towards him.

She didn't expect him to kiss her, so she pressed her mouth against his lightly. He didn't refuse her, and accepted her gesture. But he didn't return the kiss, instead continuing to look at her with the same uncertainty.

Slowly, he stood, removing his eyes from her. She watched as he walked away, his hands clenched in fists.

"Clean up that mess."

As he left her alone, she looked at the blood again. Suddenly, she saw a soul, of a young man who died too young. Of someone who had heard something so repulsive that he stood to leave and was shot down for his foolish courage.

This was all too knew to her. All the money stashed recklessly around the house; the many rooms she had yet to explore and wasn't sure if she was allowed to. And the Joker himself remained a mystery to her, and she wondered how she could love such a mad lunatic. He was more than just a gangster. There was a deep twisted evil in him that he himself relished, that made him more feared and more worshiped than any mediocre gangster. Perhaps it was the madness that compelled her to him, slowly bringing out the madness in her. From the day she met him, he had tugged at an undeveloped part of her soul, one she continued to explore in his presence, and one she gave into frenziedly.

~oOo~

She had rushed into the room that day, out of breath, cheeks painted a deep crimson as anger and concern overpowered her. She rushed into the room and looked directly at him.

"I'm so sorry."

Her voice was shaky as she spoke, immediately seating herself as her face contorted into pure anguish.

He sat directly across from her as he usually did, his eyes heavy and sunken. There was a presence about him that was not like himself. He seemed broken and not fully present. But he caught her eyes and melted them with his, remaining silent.

Tears welled as she looked at him, shaking her head slowly. "I am so sorry," she repeated, her voice cracking. "I didn't know they were going to do this. This was not part of your treatment plan. I wasn't informed-"

She cut herself off, digging her fingers into her temples as she continued to gaze at him. The tears she tried to retain fled her eyes, slowly one by one. She had never seen him so solemn, so quiet. She could feel his pain, could imagine the ringing in his head.

"I'm sorry," she spoke again, softly this time.

Pushing herself forward onto the table, she pressed her palms on his cheeks. His face was cold, while her tears stained his skin. She kissed him, and she was relieved when his mouth puckered to kiss her back.

"I'm surprised you didn't know about this, doc."

She pulled away hastily when he spoke, his voice low and a bit slurred. He didn't smile or laugh or portray any sign of his usual character. He just looked tired.

"Electroconvulsive therapy was not part of your treatment," she wearily defended herself, wiping more tears from her cheeks.

"I wonder how this one got passed you." He was still skeptical.

"I would never approve such a procedure." She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling her desire for him pulse at her veins. "Especially for you."

He was silent again. "I will be certain this never happens again."

He was exhausted of her words, however, and she could sense it by the stiffening of his body beneath his straight jacket.

"We both know I don't belong here," he spoke again, steadily. She couldn't reply, didn't know what to say. She had already broken so many rules and had jeopardized her career. But her deep intense love for him was taking over her mind, and all she could think about was him and only him. Ever since their last session she had become absolutely infatuated, her mind entertaining ideas of a life together outside of the asylum, her body hungering for the touch he promised he would bestow her if his arms were free of his restraints.

He had been looking at the table, but lifted his gaze to meet hers once more. He captured her with his stare, devouring her soul, making her his. "We can be together. We can leave and never look back. We can forget about this place and forget about Gotham."

She found herself entranced by his promises, her breath heaving as he licked his lips.

"I want you so bad, baby. I want you so bad and I don't want anything or nobody else."

A sharp contraction pierced at the center of her body. As her tears dried on her face, she found her desire consuming her, leaning her elbows forward onto the table, a tremble to her lower lip.

"I want you too," she confessed. "I love you."

"Then let's get out of here."

"I..."

"You see what this place has done to me. You see it ain't no good for me. You're the only good thing that's ever happened to me. You did your job, doc. You changed me. But now you have to get me out of here before they ruin all your hard work."

She was seduced by his voice, believing his every word, suddenly feeling proud and accomplished.

"I saved you," she breathed.

"You did." And for the first time in that session, he smiled. "You're a fucking angel."

Blissfully, her mouth curved upwards.

"We have to get out of here," he repeated to her once more, gravely. "Just me and you. Do you want that, baby?"

"I do." She wasn't hesitating anymore. Her breathing had become almost manic, her breasts aching as she pressed herself further onto the table. She gazed at him with such a lust and desire and fervent amour she had never experienced. He sent her to an ecstatic state of euphoria. His sweet talk overcame her intelligence, any degrees she may have held, any common sense she possessed. He had enchanted her heart and her mind, and nothing else mattered.

"Then there's something you have to do for me."

"Anything," she said breathlessly, pressing her knees together at the throbbing ache at the center of her body.

"I need you to bring me a gun."

A frazzled look captured her face. "A gun?" She repeated. "Where...am I supposed to find one?"

"From one of my guys. You find him, you get the gun, then we get the fuck out of here."

He saw the look in her eyes begin to change, her rationality slowly coming back to her.

"What if we snuck out?" she reasoned. "Why can't-"

"I need to protect us, babe. There is no other option."

Her head was pulsing, so many thoughts and questions consuming her mind painfully. She could feel herself sweat profusely underneath her lab coat. There was a long moment of intense silence.

"Who do I find, and where do I find him?"

The Joker smiled, a smile that was unique to him, and at last she saw the full extent of his personality reemerging.

"His name is Jonny Frost. And you can find him at a bar in downtown Gotham. He's there every night."

When she didn't reply, he lowered his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Tell him I sent you. And tell him I said it's time."

~oOo~

The bedroom was dark when she reentered, noticing the silhouette of the Joker laying still on the bed. Quietly she went to the bathroom, softly closing the door. Blood stained her elbows and knees, and hastily she turned on the sink and began to scrub at her skin. Tears welled in her eyes and fell down her face, the sink painted red as the water continued to run.

Her skin had become raw as she relentlessly scoured her body with a sponge, placing one knee on the counter of the sink and scrubbing madly, continuing to do so even after the blood was gone and her own blood emerged from her roughness. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop scrubbing. Why was she so frantic? Wasn't she going to become just like the Joker himself? A champ, as he said? The Queen of Gotham? How was she supposed to face the Bat if she was being a crybaby over someone else's blood on her?

Quickly, she removed her bloodied dressed, leaving her in a new set of underwear. Resting her palms on the counter, she stared at her reflection, her tear stained face causing mascara to drip down her cheeks. Her purple lipstick was smeared, the foundation she wore not properly hiding her bruised jawline.

Foaming soap onto her hands, she rubbed her palms together and began to dab at her face, removing the mess of makeup and tears, feeling herself calm down as she became clean again.

Turning off the sink left her in silence, and now she gazed at a reflection that was clean of blood, of smeared makeup. Almost happily, she sighed.

She left the bathroom and crept onto the bed, feeling J's warmth as she rested herself and turned her back away from him. Her eyes refused to close, however. She felt Jay reposition himself, could feel his bare chest press against her own naked back.

He grabbed her softly and turned her onto her back, hovering over her to where she could feel his breath hit her face lightly.

The darkness placed beautiful shadows over his form, enhancing the shape of his jaw, the depth of his eyes, the curve of his muscular frame. He looked down at her tenderly almost, and from her calmed state she became frantic again, a tremble taking over her. She exhaled when she felt his knuckles graze her cheek. With him, she could never tell if he was being affectionate or about to hit her.

"I've been really gentle with you, Harley," he spoke at last, his voice hushed. She didn't respond, but continued to look at his darkened form. His hand trailed down her shoulder, his thumb smoothing over her skin. "You're still so new and so naive. But you have to know I ain't gona be this gentle for long. Things are gona start to get different. Do you understand?"

Carefully she nodded.

He pressed his body on her, and there he began to kiss her.

It was slow, romantic, and manipulating. He kissed her like a lover, with a beautiful heated passion. And she took it in desperately, hungrily. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she let him on top of her, opening her legs.

He continued to kiss her with a slow erotic passion, and she absolutely melted underneath him, while his palm smoothed over the skin of her stomach, his mouth swerving against her own. She closed her eyes in complete ecstasy, feeling his lips move to her neck, his kisses remaining slow and seductive. A light, dreamy moan heaved from her throat, while her body squirmed underneath him. He touched her carefully, gently, almost lovingly, removing her underwear slowly. Placing his fingers at her center, he could feel her wetness leak onto him and the bed.

As her grasp around his neck tightened, their lips met again, dancing against one another in a sluggish beautiful kiss.

She didn't care that he killed someone. She didn't care that she cleaned up the blood.

At that moment, she was so desperately in love, suppressed in a state of pure passion. When she felt him enter her it was so careful and warming, and he moved within her slowly yet profoundly. For the first time in her eyes they were lovers, she was his. His mouth never left hers, kissing her repeatedly, fervidly, while moving inside her with such a passion she never felt before.

She was so so so in love, convincing herself at that instant he must have been as in love as she was.

So, so, so in love that she didn't comprehend the manipulation that was taking place at that very moment and every seemingly loving embrace thereafter.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Harley had woken the next day in the afternoon, finding herself in an empty bed. His scent still lingered however, the smell of his cologne polluting the bed sheets. Thoughts of last night flooded her memory, causing a goofy smile to envelope her face while she rubbed at her tired eyes.

The room was a mess, with bags and bags of designer clothes and makeup sprawled on the floor. She hadn't had a chance to go through everything, there was so much stuff, so much to organize and pick and choose what she wanted and what she didn't care for.

She looked for something to wear to cover her nakedness, scrummaging through the bags until she pulled out a pink robe, quickly wrapping it around her. She found herself emptying the entire bag on the floor, greeted by several dresses, blouses, and purses. She squealed at the revelry of color and glitter, then finding herself emptying another bag, and then another. Soon the entire floor was filled with clothes.

At least two hours might have passed as she sat there on her knees sorting out the "uglies" from the "pretties." She had created two large piles. Holding up a dress, she pressed it against herself. It was red and covered in sequins and what appeared to be swarovski crystals. She gasped in glee, throwing it over to the pretty pile as she continued to dig through all the articles.

She was interrupted by a knock at the door.

She gulped, hoping to ail the sudden dryness in her throat. "Puddin?" she bellowed.

There was a pause. "No, Miss Harley. It's me, Frost. Can I come in?"

Looking down at herself, she knew she wasn't as decent as J would like her to be in front of his men, but she wasn't in the mood to put on more clothes.

Clearing her throat, she pulled the robe firmly over her breasts for better coverage. "Yea, sure."

The door creaked open slowly, revealing Frost who looked down at Harley. She hadn't even bothered to get up.

"Good morning," she greeted.

He looked down at his watch. "Good afternoon."

His suit was crisp and ironed, a grey tie folded neatly underneath his white collar. She could see her reflection in his shoes.

"Where is Mistah J?" she asked, grabbing another shirt and inspecting it, shaking her head in disgust as she threw it in the ugly pile.

"He's off to do some business," he shot back quickly. "He asked me to keep an eye on you."

Harley huffed, however, looking up at Frost, giving him a playful wink. "Why do you need to keep an eye on me, huh? What kind of trouble could I possibly get into."

"Boss wanted me to make sure you get your mess cleaned up."

She smiled and blushed at the same time. "And you're gonna help me?"

He scratched his temple. "That really wasn't part of the-"

"Here, you see that pile of nasty clothes over there? Grab a bag and get them out of here."

There was a long, drained silence, a flabbergasted expression consuming Frost's face. "Excuse me?"

"Mistah J asked you to take care of me, didn't he?"

His eyes narrowed towards her.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot to say please." She stood lightly on her feet, approaching the much taller man and extending her hands towards him.

"Please, Mr. Jonny Frost, get a bag and help me get rid of those fugly rags."

He looked at her hand and back at her face, which was scrunched up in a cute smile.

"Fugly?" he repeated.

"Yea, you know what it means don't ya?"

"Yes, I know what it means."

A smile tugged at his lips, and he accepted her gesture and shook her hand. "You're a ballsy one, aren't you?" He murmured. "That shock to the head really did something to you."

"I think we are going to be best friends, Mr. Frost."

The discarding of unwanted clothes was only the beginning. Soon after she had him sorting by style and color, removing tags and folding neatly. She walked into J's closet. It was huge and she noticed he had pushed some hangers aside to make room for her. Giddiness took over her, and she felt like a freshly married bride. As curiosity tugged at her, she hurriedly rummaged through his clothing.

"Armani...Gucci...Prada...Gucci...Armani..." she read the tags aloud, narrowing her eyes in simultaneous disgust and glory. Purple shirts, red shirts, vests, pressed pants, leather trench jackets. There had to be thousands of dollars of clothing in there.

"Hey Jonny," Harley called out, pulling out one of J's jackets and inspecting the label.

"Yes, Miss Harley."

"How rich is Mistah J?"

There was a pause she noticed as she pulled out a vest.

"What do you mean?"

When he peeked inside the closet, she jumped back a bit. "How rich is Mistah J?" she repeated, quickly hanging the vest back on the rack.

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious."

"Pretty fucking rich."

He turned to leave but she spoke again. "How's he get all his money? From sellin' drugs and robbin' banks?"

Frost scratched at his beard, sighing while he shook his head at her. "I don't think the Boss would like you asking this many questions. And going through all his stuff." He pointed a perfectly manicured finger at her in warning.

Following him, she exited the closet and pursued him to the bed as he continued removing tags.

"Hey Jonny," she started again, standing right next to him.

He sighed. "Yes Miss Harley."

"What does ice mean?"

He stopped what he was doing and gave her a strange look. "Use it in a sentence."

"Like Angelo just got a shipment of ice and we're gonna off him."

"Harley. Stop."

Nudging him with her elbow, she was persistent. "Come on, I just want to know what it means. Is it diamonds?"

"It's crystal meth."

An over-exaggerated gasp escaped her throat, placing both her petite palms over her mouth. "Mistah J deals meth?"

"Harley, end of discussion. Not saying another word about this."

Fumbling with her lips, she accepted defeat and sat at the edge of the bed, picking up the beautiful red dress that had caught her eye earlier and held it against her.

"Do you think Mistah J will take me back to his night club?" She wasn't looking at him now, but closed her eyes and smiled as she held the dress.

"I'm pretty sure he will take you there plenty."

"Does Mistah J have other girlfriends?"

"I wouldn't call them girlfriends."

She frowned at this. "You think he's fucking other ladies since he's been with me?"

"You've been here less than a week." He paused. "If it makes you feel better, you're the first one he's brought to live with him."

Smiling at herself, she dropped the subject. "So you gona tell me how rich is Mistah J really?"

Frost threw his head back, shaking his head, then giving Harley a knowing look. Her eyes locked on his, an intrigued rise to her brow.

"Here, I'll give you a story and you can figure out how rich the Boss is."

"Sounds fair."

"Boss does business with a man name Hassan who owns a very classy hookah bar on the east side of Gotham. We go there one evening and get a private booth. Hassan has a belly dancer who entertains the guests there. Boss sends me to ask Hassan to have her dance at our booth. The girl was fucking terrified, but did as she was told. She comes to our booth, dances, gets Hunter up to dance with her and it's fucking hysterical. The boss loved it. He must have thrown five g's at her. Before we left he personally hands her a tip, at least another five g. That night that belly dancer who probably gets paid a hundred bucks a night left with at least ten thousand dollars."

She stared at him wide eyed, blinking repeatedly.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes it does."

The room was beginning to look much less cluttered now, as they continued to organize her new belongings. Her eyes spotted several large untouched bags labeled "Sephora."

Merrily she approached the bags and began to empty the contents on the ground, one by one, squealing in delight. The sound of the different articles of makeup clanging together was melodic to her ears.

Looking down at her wearily, Frost sighed. "Do you really need my help with this too?"

She held two different shades of two different brands of foundation, expecting them carefully. "Yes. I need you to help me match my skin tone."

"Don't you already know this stuff?"

She frowned at him.

"Not since my skin was bleached."

~oOo~

Dr. Quinzel found him that night, exactly where the Joker told her he would be.

The bar was in a rough area of Gotham. It was in a neighborhood one would try to avoid on their GPS. A high crime area, the streets wet from a recent pour of rain. By the time she had pulled up at the front of the establishment, it had stopped raining. It was almost black outside, with the exception of street lights and headlights of cars passing by. She could hear police sirens faintly in the background.

She tried to walk into the bar confidently, but found herself tip toeing inside. It was nearly empty, and almost silent.

She had asked what he looked like, and the Joker had merely responded, "You will know him when you see him."

The sound of her heels clicking against the floor reverberated as she daintily approached the bar. An older gentleman stood behind, portly and dressed simply in a white shirt, mixing drinks. When she leaned her elbows on the counter, he caught her gaze. He looked her up and down with intrigue.

"How can I help you, lady?"

At his raspy voice and coy smile she frowned. "I'm looking for someone. Maybe you can tell me if you've seen him?"

He raised a brow at her. "Who's askin'?"

"I'm asking."

"Listen lady, I ain't no rat. I don't know who sent you here but I ain't answering any of your questions. Now are you going to order a drink or are we going to have some trouble?"

Beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable, she sighed, opening her mouth to speak, but unable to get a word out.

"Get the lady a shot of tequila."

Turning her head, she took heed of the low, well spoken voice. There sat a young man, comely dressed, a neat beard pecking at his handsome features. Taking a quick shot of alcohol, he briefly winced at the taste.

He looked at her and she looked at him. And she knew she had found him.

"Jonny Frost?" she asked, awkwardly hopping onto the stool next to him and adjusting her glasses.

"Who wants to know?"

"The Joker said I'd find you here."

As the bartender handed her the shot glass, she accepted and looked down at the liquid uneasily. Taking a deep breath in, she downed the drink bravely. Then, briefly, began to cough.

Frost patted her on the back during her episode. "J sent you here?" he asked with interest, leaning his face closer to her, becoming a bit more hushed.

"He did," she complied, clearing her throat, the taste of the tequila still poisoning her tongue. "I'm a bit surprised. I thought the Joker kept company with a more grungy sort of crowd. I wouldn't suspect you to work for him."

He laughed. "You're crazy, lady. The boss has been locked up for a couple months now. I've been taking care of business for him. And besides, you don't look like the type of company he'd keep either."

She frowned at his statement. "And why's that?"

"Come on, the glasses, the pencil skirt. Hair pulled back. Way too classy of a broad for him."

Sighing, she slammed the shot glass on the counter, signaling the bartender for another round. The man eyed her carefully, obliging as he filled her glass.

"Don't know where you found this one, Frost. She seems feisty."

"Give us a minute, Larry." Frost signaled him with a lift of his head to give them some privacy.

Again she downed the beverage down her throat. Again her lungs burst into another coughing fit.

"You know, the trick is not to let it hit your tongue," he smirked.

"I'm...I'm his doctor." She coughed a few more times, regaining her composure.

Frost furrowed his brows. "What?"

Their eyes locked in a deadly gaze. "I'm the Joker's doctor. At Arkham Asylym."

"Then what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to get him out."

He just laughed now, shaking his head at her, grabbing a bottle of beer and taking a chug.

"Listen, Lady, I don't know who the fuck you are but this shit ain't funny."

"I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel," she spoke gravely, "And I am trying to get the Joker out of Arkham. Tomorrow."

There was a stillness that consumed him. He was getting more interested now.

"And he told me I would find you here."

"And what does he want me to do?"

"He wants you to give me a gun." She paused. "And, he wanted me to tell you it's time."

Her final statement garnered his full attention. He suddenly seemed to get on board with whatever she was saying.

"So, the son of a bitch really did figure out the perfect escape," he beamed.

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me, Dr. Quinzel, why are you destroying your career to free the Joker? What's in it for you? He put you on payroll or something?"

She hesitated to answer him, a glisten taking over her eyes. "It has nothing to do with money." She sighed, pressing her fingers at her forehead, already knowing her next statement would sound preposterous. "I'm in love with him."

Frost didn't laugh, however, but continued to gaze at her, as if he pitied her. "Boss does have a way to get into people's heads."

"He's in love with me as well."

He smiled, a very clever coy smirk. "I bet he is."

"So what happens now? Are you going to give me a gun?" She was becoming antsy now, her feet fidgeting on the bars of the stool. He noticed her unease and hurriedness.

"You got this all planned out?" he asked.

"Not at all."

Out of his blazer, he pulled out his wallet, leaving cash on the counter. "Come with me, toots. We'll go out the back."

As he stood, he offered his hand, and she accepted the gesture as he helped her hop off the stool.

They exited the building from the back door, leading to the management parking lot. He led her to a large black Hummer.

"Harleen Quinzel," Frost mused. "Boss must have a field day with that one. Your basically Harlequin." He laughed at himself. "Harley Quinn."

As they stepped on the wet ground leading to his vehicle, Dr. Quinzel frowned, folding her arms over her chest as she held her purse securely against her.

"He's never even mentioned it," she retorted.

"Right, probably too busy falling in love with you and such." He chuckled at his comment.

"Are you going to give me the gun or not?"

With a click of his car key remote, his trunk popped opened. Her eyes widened at what she saw inside.

"Take your pick, lady."

The trunk was filled with shot guns, hand guns, machine guns. Where there bombs? Grenades?

"Um..." she stuttered, beginning to tremble as she timidly grabbed a hand gun from the pile. "I think this one will do."

The metal was gold on her fingers. It was the first time she had ever held a gun. It felt terrifying and yet, powerful.

"Of course you'd take the girly one."

"I'm not sure I'd be able to sneak any of the others inside."

"You've got an escape plan? So J's gona shoot the multitude of security with that little gun while you two make a getaway in your Volkswagon?"

"I have a Honda," she frowned.

"Lady, you need some back up."

She wasn't certain what he meant by that inclination. "Back-up?"

"I'll be there with some boys. You bring J out and get you guys to safety. And if we notice any trouble, we'll intervene." With that he winked at her. "Sound like a plan?"

The fear crept in her chest, as the total realization of what she was about to do manifested in her brain. "I guess so."

"What time you planning his escape?"

"I see him in the morning...around ten."

"Then ten it is." He extended out his arm, hand ready to accept her's. She eyed it carefully, reluctantly accepting his gesture. His squeeze on her was tight, a little too tight.

"Pleasure doing business with you Harley Quinn."

She snatched her hand away, taking the gun and trying to push it in her purse with panic. "Its's Dr. Quinzel."

"Lady, after tomorrow, I doubt anybody will be calling you doctor anymore."

He patted her shoulder, then pushed down the trunk of the Hummer. "All in the name of love, right?"

Was it too late to change her mind, to forget any of this had ever happened? To assign the Joker a different psychiatrist and never speak of this again?

But she remembered the look in his eyes, the feel of his mouth on hers. And oh what he promised to do to her with his hands.

She zipped her purse shut, pressing her lips together.

"Thank you, Mr. Frost. I'll see you tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

During the beginning, she did not truly realize the darkness she had entered.

She did not realize his true intentions for her and what kind of a life it actually entailed.

Because in the beginning, he had her playing house, bought her whatever she asked for, kept promising her that he would turn her into a villain such as him. In her defiled mind, she painted a picture of colorful villainy, of looting banks and outrunning police. She was so naive, as he had told her, and had fallen so in love with him and his words that she continued to see him as a victim of unfortunate circumstances. That his actions were a means of protection and survival. Nothing was truly his fault and he was not truly hurting anybody in his illegal practices.

But he was a gangster and this was a mob life. And she would come to this realization slowly and painfully, until it would maddeningly take over her.

Her first glimpse into his true psychosis occurred as they laid in bed one evening late into the night, naked and bodies glistening in sweat. On her elbow she leaned, resting her palm against her cheek as she traced a finger over the tattoos of his chest. Pieces of hair falling in front of her face, she watched him as he lied there while he stared at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath, watching the beautiful rise and fall of his chest, his right arm rested over his abdomen, while his left coddled her close to him.

"Puddin," she asked, almost in a whisper as she trailed her finger along his breast, tracing the letters of the many HA's that polluted the area.

There was a long silence, the sound of his breath the only audible noise. His eyes never left the ceiling. "Yes, Harley."

"What ya thinking about?"

"Everything," he answered her quietly, and very quickly. She was surprised by his punctuality.

Moving down his stomach, her fingertips grazed over his abdomen, smoothing over the large bold print of his title, Joker.

"Ya thinking about what we just did?" she whispered smugly, a silly smile spreading on her slips as she rubbed herself against him. He didn't answer her but she was pleased when a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was so focused on his thoughts however, staring up blankly, and slowly his breathing softened.

She felt herself becoming excited again as her palm smoothed down the muscles of his stomach, now fingering over his navel, where she found a largely obnoxious tattoo of a grinning mouth underneath his belly button.

"You got a lot of tattoos, Puddin," she mused out loud. "Do they hurt a lot?"

"Absolutely."

She was quiet for a moment, now roaming up the length of his right arm. He was so lean and she reveled at the shape of his beautiful body. "Do any of 'em have any meaning to 'em?"

"Some do, some don't."

"How come they're all in black and white? How come ya don't have any with color on 'em?"

His angry aura was beginning to pulsate, and she could feel his tension.

"You're asking too many questions again, Harley."

"Sorry, Puddin." She kissed him on the cheek, but he was very stiff.

Returning her attention back to his markings, she observed his right bicep with curiosity. She felt him flinch as she traced over the drawing.

"What about this one, Puddin? Does this one have meaning?"

She expected him to get angry and push her away, or to simply tell her to shut up again. However, a controlled sigh fled his nostrils, and he brought himself up to lean on his side, facing her. She could see the tattoo much more clearly now, and she frowned at the sight.

The room was dark, yet she saw every detail of his markings perfectly. And this one, it was different from the rest. It wasn't a tattoo that defined his identity as the Joker. It was simple and seemed horrifically personal. It was a bird, falling to his death, an arrow pierced through it's body.

He looked at her with deep eyes, with the same concentration lingering in his features. "This one I got," he began lowly, taking his thumb and grazing her mouth, "After I killed the Bird."

He lingered over her bottom lip, and there she began to feel a strange sense of fear build in her. "The Bird?" she repeated. "What kind of bird?"

"A Robin, to be exact." He winked at her. It wasn't playful. It wasn't sexy. She began to shiver and feel her nipples pucker.

"You mean..." She found herself trailing off, looking from his hypnotic stare back to the ink on his arm. Slowly, her gaze crept back to his.

She couldn't read him, couldn't tell if he was filled with pride, with shame, with remorse, with fulfilled vengeance. He just was so...neutral. As if this death didn't phase him, didn't excite him, didn't haunt him. As if it was just a part of him, a part of his job, his life, himself. As if this was something that needed to be done, and this tattoo that stood out from all the rest...this tattoo was a token of an accomplishment of a duty.

"When did you get it?" she asked him.

"Years ago. A bit before this happened." And he smiled at her a toothy smile, flashing his grill, the silver twinkling in the darkness.

Though she had trouble remembering all of her previous life, she did remember her sessions with him. She recalled his sad story of losing his teeth to Batman, and how very much she pitied him.

"So that's why Batman beat the shit out of you," she whispered, more as an outward thought rather than a comment to him directly.

His stare at her was scorching, his fingers feeling like burnt coal as he touched her cheek. And devilishly his touch traveled down her neck, over her breast, along the curve of her waist. A soft gasp fled her throat as he pushed her against him, feeling his hot breath burn her face.

He trapped her eyes with his. "Why'd you do it?" she asked him, unable to look away from the pools of sinister blue.

"Why the fuck not?"

And he kissed her, hard, pressing against the small of her back, and there she could feel he was ready for her again, and he took her for a second time, with a wild vehement passion. And as she submerged herself in his excitement, there loomed over her a foreboding feeling, tugging at her soul, unable to escape.

She found herself terrified, and yet, like a small candid child, unable to look away.

~oOo~

It was the day that Dr. Harleen Quinzel's life had ended.

Everything had happened so swiftly, and was absolutely out of control. She realized her seduction had ended the moment she freed the Joker from his restraints and placed the handgun she had retrieved from Frost onto the table.

He stretched his arms before her, letting out an aggravated grunt. For the first time she noticed his body, his midriff bare, and all of the tattoos he promised he would show her. All of her fear had escaped her for that small moment and finally the excitement of what she was doing filled her bones. But it was only a moment.

"I tell you to get me a gun and this is what you bring me?"

He had grabbed her by her collar, bringing her close to him, then pressing her body down onto the table in front of the weapon. Wincing from the pain of his hostility, the surface of the table felt cold against her cheek, while she watched him pick up the gun with his free hand, lifting her back up and holding her close to his side.

"Here's the plan, doc, you're my fucking hostage. One wrong move and I'll blow your fucking brains out, do you understand?"

She felt her heart sink as the realization of what was actually occurring hit her. He had placed the gun at her forehead, his eyes wide and exasperated. He looked just as crazy as the day they brought him in.

"Yes," she answered, hoping to conceal the tremble in her voice.

He scowled at her however, digging the gun deeper into her skin. "Yes what?"

"Yes...sir."

A grin captured his mouth, while he pressed his nose firmly against her own. "Oh, I am going to have a lot of fun with you, doc. This is going to be a swell morning." He licked her from her chin to her mouth, planting a stiff emotionless kiss on her lips. "Now let's get the fuck out of here."

She couldn't think, couldn't react. All she could feel was his painful grip on her and the gun placed between her eyes. Everything that occurred after that was a maddening blur of gunshots and screams.

He let her out the room, immediately shooting at the security who stood outside. He shot more security, doctors, patients, nurses-planted the pistol at the side of her head in dire warning of anyone who wouldn't cooperate.

This had to be the worst of what would happen. As bodies and blood tarnished the floor of the asylum, she noticed he was not exactly looking for an immediate escape, as if he were stalling.

And the insanity genuinely began the moment she felt and heard the massive explosion.

There was not a chance to fully experience the sudden sensation of trembling that took over, as a colossal storm of gun shots immediately followed. Even during the tumultuous uproar, she could hear the Joker laugh, the sound echoing throughout the entire building, melding with the desperate shrilling screams and chorus of shots, ringing and ringing and ringing.

It was almost musical in a horrendous maniacal way. A beautifully disturbing masterpiece.

She was able to see the source of the shots-several men, dressed in their finest suits, holding machine guns. Two of the men were young and handsome, almost appearing angelic as they marched through the halls, holding large machine guns that never stopped shooting. The others were dressed just as nice, however wore bizarre head pieces of different animals and characters to conceal their faces. It was a mass hysteria, of shooting down doors, any living body that got in their way. Smoke clouded her lungs, she found herself hyperventilating, shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down her cheeks, past her chain and onto her neck.

"What have I done?"she cried silently, shaking her head, trying to resist the Joker's grasp, but now he grabbed her by the waist and pressed her against him, locking his eyes onto hers. He shoved the gun into her mouth, causing her to choke, the burning hot metal scorching her tongue, more tears slipping from her eyes and drenching her face.

Bringing her closer to him, he smiled down at her however. "What did I tell you about not cooperating, babe?"

His eyes swiftly left hers when she heard the sound of brisk footsteps approaching them.

"Boss, come with us before the cops get here while the others finish off."

She couldn't see, but heard the voice of a well spoken man. At his words, the Joker forced the gun out of her mouth with such a brutality that she immediately began to heavily cough, and turned her around so that her back pressed against him. She could see now, the two handsome men, holding their guns but ceased shooting.

"Not just yet, fellas," the madman beamed, bringing the gun back to her temple, in which she winced. It was wet and warm and felt like acid on her skin. "I want to have some fun with my new toy first."

He dragged her to a room she knew too well, one he had been in before.

"Vito, Rocks, strap her down."

Dropping her like garbage, she collapsed onto the floor, an she found she was unable to support herself, her knees shaking to the point where she couldn't even stand. The two men grabbed each of her arms, pulling her up harshly, intrigued smiles forming on their faces.

What was about to happen to her? Was he really going to do what she thought he was? Apparently these guys Rocks and Vito thought so. Desperately, she tried to fight them off as they released their weapons and strapped her down onto a patient table, restraining her arms and legs. Grunts and screams and cries fled her throat, but nothing could free her now. She was helpless, trapped. She felt one of the men eagerly place his hand on her thigh, beginning to pull up her skirt. She closed her eyes in agony, but the moment was cut short at the sound of a gun shot.

Opening her eyes, she saw Vito and Rocks jump back, neither injured but both frazzled as the Joker approached them, gun help up firmly in his hand.

"Don't fucking touch her."

There was a sincerity in his gaze at them, one that seemed to calm her a little. Yet his gesture didn't appear to be one of affection or protection...yet that of possession.

His men stepped back as the Joker made his way back to Dr. Quinzel, looking down at the terrified girl with feigning sympathetic eyes.

Tenderly, he pressed the gun against her cheek. Tears plummeted down her face but she kept her mouth closed, only small whimpers escaping her. The harder she tried to control the trembling of her body, the more she shook. She didn't know how to feel as their gazes collided, her mixture of love and hatred for him creating an entirely new emotion inside her.

"I like you, doc, I really do." His voice was low and coarse. He ran a palm from her calf to her thigh and her breath quickened in simultaneous fear and excitement.

"I like you but, you're a little too smart for me. And a little too sane. I thought I was able to break ya, but, it looks like I'm going to need a little more help."

Gulping, she looked up at him with broad fearful eyes, catching the smile that captured his lips.

"What are you going to do to me?"

He didn't answer, but rolled her over to a table with specific equipment. And once she saw him pick up two rods out of the corner of her eyes, she moaned in dread.

"Oh God, Mr. Joker. Please don't. Please..."

"Rocks, give me ya belt."

At compliance, the man hastily removed the belt from his pants and approached the joker, holding the article in both hands.

The Joker nodded. "Put it in her mouth."

She clenched her teeth, resisting as he tried to to shove the belt between her lips, shaking her head ferociously, grunting as she felt the leather hit her face.

"Open ya damn mouth, doctor!"

Automatically, without even thinking, she obliged at the Joker's order and took the belt and hugged it with her teeth. She was breathing in but unable to exhale. Inhaling in short bursts of gasps, heart pounding wildly, body tensing up but at the same time shaking uncontrollably.

He turned the light on over her face, sizzling her eyes, narrowing them while he hovered above her, holding both rods in his hands and smiling at her as if he were her savior.

He almost seemed like he was, and she found herself believing it, waiting for him to do something miraculous, to completely and utterly change her life.

She heard him turn on the electroconvulsive machine, and suddenly everything stopped: the convulsions, the crying, the whimpering. She found herself laying absolutely still and nearly lifeless.

"I'll try to be gentle," he whispered, and without warning instantaneously pressed the rods at the temples of her head.

The instant she felt the electricity hit her skull, there was no more thinking, no more feeling, no more knowing or understanding. She had left her present state of being and entered into a lifeless existence. Her mind escaped her, unable to control the fierce jerking of her body. He stopped for a moment, but only to raise the intensity and bludgeon her again, burrowing the rods into her skin, watched in pleasant delight as she convulsed beneath her restraints, teeth involuntary biting down onto the belt, eyes rolling back into her head.

He was persistent, held on longer than he should have, longer than he needed to to reach his goal. He wanted to destroy her brain, take away from her everything that made her unique, anything that made her sane and independent from him.

And when he finally stopped, he watched her body go limp, eyes close, and drool drip down her chin, the belt slipping from her mouth and falling to the floor.

He looked down at her tenderly, a warm smile perched on his dark lips, now grazing his thumb over her wet cheek.

"Boys, get her untied, and let's get the hell out of here."

Rocks and Vito carried the unconscious Dr. Quinzel as they exited the building, while Joker's other men began to make their separate departure as well. They were greeted outside by a large, black Hummer.

Swiftly and with elegance Rocks and Vito entered the back of the vehicle, carrying the doctor with them, as Joker followed after. Immediately, the car drove in a ferocious speed, away from Arkham, away from the destruction and mayhem.

It was here where she slowly began to regain a smidgen of consciousness, where the colors of the world began to return to her eyes, where sounds faintly hit her ears. A low, quiet moan emerged from her, and she had found herself being held by Rocks and Vito.

"Hey Boss, so what are you going to do with her?" asked who she guessed to be Rocks.

"Yea Boss, do we get to have fun with her too?" Vito trailed his knuckles down her shin.

She couldn't understand what was happening, where she was. She didn't have the strength to protect herself. The leather of the seat felt painfully cold against her thighs, while the smell mixed with various colognes burned at her nostrils.

But almost immediately she was dragged away from the two men, and into the embrace of the naked torso of the Joker, holding her against him fiercely while he pulled out his gun and aimed it at the two boys.

"What did I tell you assholes inside? Don't fucking touch her. This one's mine. If I catch any of you even looking at her funny I won't hesitate to kill you, is that clear?"

Again she moaned, her head in excruciating pain. She tried to move but her attempt was weak and pathetic. She could only press her cheek against the Joker's chest, more saliva involuntarily leaving her mouth and landing on his bare skin. Oddly, she felt him begin to pet her cheek. And, oddly, it felt very soothing to her.

"Who the fuck is driving the car? Frost, is that you?"

The man in question turned from his speeding down the road abruptly to reveal a familiar beard and attractive rounded face. "Hey boss, long time no see."

"Good job, Jonny. Can't believe you let this chick take the bitch gun."

Frost adjusted his rear view mirror, looking carefully at the scene in the back with bewilderment.

"Is that Harley Quinn? What the hell happened to her?"

"I fixed her, that's what happened to her," Joker shot back, bringing her sloppily onto his lap and caressing the top of her head. Then, his eyes lit up, a grin capturing his face while the rumbling of his hysterical laughter filled the car. "And by God, Frost, you are a fucking genius. Fellas, meet Harley Quinn. But she's Miss Harley to you, got it?"

He presented the half conscious, unstable girl proudly, holding her up, yet her neck could not find the strength to support her head, nor the ability to keep her mouth closed and dry.

Vito rubbed at his forehead, a bit concerned at the bizarre sight. "Boss, you sure she isn't brain damaged?"

At that moment, a small giggle and snort softly erupted from her throat, and she fell onto the Joker's lap, continuing to laugh. It was a tone new to her, unlike her natural voice. She was in a frenzy of giggles as she laid over him, and gloriously he rubbed her back, marveling in her hilarity.

"Not at all. I think she's absolutely perfect."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

She had lost track of the days she had been the Joker's hostage. There was no communication with the outside world. All she had was the TV in the bedroom, her only connection to humanity. And quite often she would see her old self on the news, family members she could barely remember begging for her safe return. All the worry and fret over her. She couldn't understand why. How could they all possibly not know this is where she wanted to be?

She saw less and less of J, only in his company late into the nights, when he would turn her from her sleep and seduce her body. Sometimes she would wait for him, prepared and naked in their bed. He never refused her and nor did she him. Every single night. Sometimes multiple times as the night progressed. And when she would wake the next day, usually in the afternoon, he would be gone, leaving her with one of his henchman to keep an eye on her.

She wanted to go through every room and explore, but she was being watched closely. She had thought she could send one of the boys to get her something to eat, and there she would have some time to search, but it was never enough time. And those boys were terrifyingly fast. As she spent all day everyday in her jammies, she found things to do like clean and watch TV. Her makeup and new clothes were untouched. This peculiar routine had been going on for about a week. There was no talk of her great transformation into J's sidekick. Simply, she would wait for him to come home.

That night, however, she had a plan. It was three in the morning and she laid belly down on the bed in the dark, watching TV while her fists supported her cheeks. She had been drearily gazing at old cartoons for hours, staring mindlessly into the screen, forcing her eyes open as they repeatedly drifted. A sudden chill took her body while she settled there absolutely naked, her hair tied in low pig tails, separating the blue from the pink.

When she heard the noise of keys jingling and the front door creaking open, she quickly sat up, grabbing the remote and hastily turning off the television. Swiftly, she repositioned herself, sitting at the end of the bed and crossing her legs, adjusting her pig tails. By the time the bedroom door opened, she had placed herself on the bed saucily, waving at J as he entered. "Hey Puddin!"

He didn't even glance at her, however, as he began to undo his tie. "Hello Harley," he silently replied after the longest pause.

Frowning at his disinterest, however, she sat up, lifting herself from the bed and posing before him.

"Like what you see?" she beamed, watching him remove his vest and and unbutton his shirt.

Finally, he briefly looked at her, face expressionless. "It's the same fucking shit I see every night."

She frowned at his words, crossing her arms over her breasts, suddenly not wanting him to see any of her. "Fine, I'll put on some clothes then."

She waited for him to respond, but nothing came as he continued to undress himself, removing his shirt, the shadows of the night capturing every curve of every muscle, and she found herself not wanting to put on any clothes anymore.

"Wana see something you don't see every night?"

He had begun to remove his belt, but stopped at her words. She had spoken in a low voice, in a tone that was easily enticing. She approached him now, rather leisurely, taking his hands and looking profoundly into his eyes. There appeared a boldness he wasn't used to seeing from her. And slowly, as she held his hands, her legs slid open, her feet gliding languidly on the carpet as her thighs brushed against the floor. She landed in a perfect split, toes pointed dramatically. She felt his grip on her hands suddenly tighten, squeezing harshly at her knuckles.

"Get up, Harley."

Forcing her up from the floor, she seemed to come up just as gracefully as she went down. J's eyes traveled over the length of her body, a stiffness taking his jaw as if he were clenching his teeth.

He grabbed her waist and pulled him against her, feeling the warmth of his body on her own bare skin, her nipples crumpling in excitement. Placing his mouth by her ear. she could feel his breath scorching at the side of her neck. His grip on her tightened little too harshly.

"Are you trying to rile me up?"

He spoke gently but sternly. She nodded in his embrace. Holding her more firmly, his fingers began to dig into her skin, and there she found the determination to push him off her. Oh, he was pissed, a raging fire growing in his eyes, his body tensing up as his hands curled into compact fists.

"Get on the bed."

Harley surprised herself as the words emerged from her own mouth. She didn't ask nor beg. She ordered him, in her most direct, candid tone. His eyes widened in maddening disbelief. He could have killed her at this point. When he didn't oblige, she pointed towards the bed.

"I said, get on the bed."

She didn't raise her voice, but looked him directly in the eye. She noticed his expression change, almost soften, perhaps in submission. She could still feel the intensity in the room, capturing their bodies, floating in the air direly and filling their breaths. All day she had waited for him and she wanted him right that instant, could feel the flexing at the center of her body, pulsing and pulsing as an uncomfortable dampness began to moisten her core.

And she could feel the throbbing of her breasts, the painful erection of her nipples. She was in such a heat, her finger began to tremble as she maintained her stance, continuing to point, raising a brow at him as she awaited for a response.

She didn't expect him to hit her. Or maybe she did. The back of his hand on her face was vexatious, but it caused her to tremble even more. He hit her again, on the same cheek, harder this time. Her skin burned a dire crimson, tears welling in her eyes, and he picked her up and threw her on the bed, in his own triumphant victory.

She thought he might just leave her there, but he instantaneously pushed his body against hers, grabbing both her wrists and pinning her down. Her cheek was still burning but so was her core, so intensely that the sensation traveled to her belly.

Her body was so heated and excited that she began to leak her excitement onto the sheets. And whatever plan of punishment he had for her rashness was forgotten as he watched the girl beneath him, breathing deeply out of her mouth, the rise and fall of her chest dramatic, while she looked at him with such a lust in her eyes that it was contagious.

He kissed her immediately, claiming her mouth as his own, and she melted, sinking into the bed, moaning at the contact she had been so impatient for. He held her down as she squirmed underneath him, pushing against his mouth, clashing her teeth with his. Desperately she tried to break free but he tightened his grasp on her, rubbing at the skin of her wrists. A mad persistence had taken over her, and she found the strength to tangle her legs around his hips and push herself up, their lips disconnecting as a sharp gasp fled her throat. When he let go of her wrists, she pushed him down, straddling him, now sitting on top as she looked down at his body with a wild hunger sparkling in her eyes.

She could feel his desire pulsating through his pants, and she sighed in a crazed bliss as she rubbed herself against him, lowering her body to press her breasts onto his torso, breathing heavily and hotly on his face. She had succeeded to put him in the same state of uninhibited euphoria, kissing ravenously, forcing his tongue to enter the inside of her mouth, finding hers, and enveloping into their own erotic dance.

She continued to rub herself on him, moving her hips in a slow and controlled circular motion, the friction catching her small mound of sensitive flesh at the center of her body. And they kissed, sloppily, erratically, void of any rhythm, any sense. It was passionate and crazy and when she felt him touch her breasts, she began to feel her body ignite.

As he rubbed at her nipples, she found herself scrubbing harder against him, felt the feeling of her sex go from pleasant to absolute ecstasy. Throwing her head back, she allowed the sensation to grow and grow, building up into a hot fire in her belly. The simultaneous stimulation of her nipples and most sensitive area sent her into a fierce, spiritual climax. It was an explosion, starting from her center and radiating to the rest of her being. Loud, messy moans echoed from her mouth, as the glorious feeling consumed her. She found herself kissing him again, sloppily and crazed, still in the midst of her climax, body convulsing from the intensity. It lasted longer than it ever had, almost frighteningly so. And she found herself suddenly addicted to it, dreading the loss of such a glorious sensation. Hastily she removed his pants, positioning herself over him, pressing her palms firmly onto his chest. Their eyes locked in a crazed gaze, and with a steady control, she lowered herself onto him, inhaling sharply as she felt him fill her, feeling an entirely new sensation of pleasure begin to capture her.

Slowly she moved against him, almost with a graceful elegance. When he smacked his palms on her rear, he urged her to hasten her movements, to which she obliged, locking her knees against him and feverishly bouncing herself on him. It felt so good to be on top, to be in control. She closed her eyes, lost in the passion, her face contorted erotically as she surrendered herself to the feeling. His hands traveled down her own body, touching her tender swollen breasts, nipples ultra sensitive from their recent fondling.

A grunt muffled in her throat when he grabbed her pigtails and brought her down against him, kissing her mouth, forcing her movement on him to alter, so that she thrust her hips dramatically against him, while he pushed up against her, digging himself deeper inside of her, the bones of their hips grinding and crushing onto one another.

The boldness in her returned, and this time she lifted her torso and pressed her palms down on the bed by his face. Harshly, she pushed her hips down on him, slowing the pace but increasing the intensity. For the first time she saw him lose himself in her, hands lazily caressing her back, too lost in the feeling of her body around him to react more profoundly.

"Do you like that, Puddin?" she whispered breathily, exhaling hotly onto his face. He didn't answer but extended his neck with a low groan, hugging her tightly now.

She moved against him harder, trashing her hips down on him, cupping his chin and squeezing his face. "Huh? Do you like that?"

Immediately at her words, he held her close and lifted himself from her control. She squeaked lightly at the sudden impact and then at the sudden loss of fullness as he removed himself from her, grabbing her by the waist and turning her around so that she laid on her stomach.

He entered her almost instantly, before she could even comprehend what was happening. She remained flat on the bed, while he pried open her legs and slipped himself in the tight wetness. It felt like an instant orgasm, and as he moved inside her, he was directly hitting a spot that drove her to blissful insanity, within seconds building a fervency in the core of her body. She moaned as he pulled on her hair, thrusting and filling himself inside her, drool dripping down her lip and onto the satin sheets.

When he grabbed her thighs and forced her knees to bend, he pressed her back down, making her arch for him. And within seconds of this new position did she feel her climax come and consume her, where groans involuntarily left her, where she could not control the volume nor the validity of them. She was simply overcome with an unbearable stimulation and release and could not control the crazed reaction of her body.

With a crazed frenzy he began to thrash against her, grunting as his sweat dripped onto her body, and with a final groan he pulled out and finished on her back, in which he collapsed beside her, and there she remained now flat on her stomach, not daring to turn around.

The room was silent, the only disturbance coming from their heavy breaths as they fought to regain control. Harley felt the sweat drip down from her forehead to her cheek and down her neck. When she felt J rest a palm on the back of her thigh, grazing her skin softly, she smiled.

"Hey Puddin," she whispered breathily.

She heard him sigh. "Yes, Harley."

"Can I get a phone?"

There was a usual long pause. Neither of them looked at one another. "Why the fuck do you need a phone." It sounded more like a brutal statement than an actual honest inquiry.

"So I can text you when I miss you."

She was surprised when he chuckled. "I'm not an idiot. You're not getting a phone."

"What if something happened and I had to call you? But I can't because I ain't got no phone?"

Silence. "Have one of my boys call."

"What if they're all dead and they're phones are broken."

He chuckled again, more profoundly this time. "So many scenarios that would warrant a phone for ya aren't there? Too bad it ain't happening."

Her lips pursed into a frown at the sheets. Slowly she lifted herself off the bed, noticing him watch her as she began to walk to the bathroom.

"I'm going to clean up the mess you made," she stated without looking at him, sauntering over to the bathroom and closing the door.

Turning on the sink, she took a small towel and wet it, wiping the fluids off her back. Her reflection caught her attention, as she noticed her cheek had begun to bruise while her hair was frazzled. Removing the scrunchies from her hair, she let the strands fall freely in front of her.

When she returned to the bedroom, she noticed J laying on his side, facing away from her. Slowly, she crept in bed beside him, facing her back towards him as well. With a delicate sigh, she closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep, but only seeing darkness for several minutes.

"Harley."

Her eyes opening at his smooth voice, she scrunched her nose, nestling her head against her pillow.

"Yes, Puddin?"

She felt his hesitation, but he responded rather quickly. "I'll have Frost bring you a phone in the afternoon."

She smiled into the pillow, not saying another word.

~oOo~

She had woken up the next afternoon, throwing on shorts and a tee shirt as she merrily skipped into the kitchen.

"Frosty, Mistah J says you have a present for me-"

She cut herself short when she saw J and Frost sitting together at the table, apparently in deep conversation. When the Joker noticed her bubbly entrance, he shot her a stern glare.

Scratching at the back of her head, she laughed nervously. "Oh Mistah J, you're here. Good morning, Puddin."

She made her way to embrace him, but she could feel him stiffen from across the room.

"It's two pm," he noted, then looked over at Frost beside him. "Does she always wake up this late?"

"Yes Boss, pretty much."

She frowned at their discussion of her.

J pulled out a chair, motioning her with his neck. "Come here Harley, come sit with Daddy."

Her cheeks tinted red as she sheepishly approached him and planted herself at the table.

"Frost got ya your phone," he told her bluntly, and Jonny reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulled the device out. She squealed as he handed it to her.

"Only mine and his numbers are active on it," J explained, narrowing his eyes at her. "If you try to call anyone else or the police, it won't go through. So best not to try."

He patted the top of her head like a dog, and she smiled wearily.

"Thanks Puddin," she purred, kissing his cheek.

"And second," he started again, now bringing attention to a book on the table. As he handed it to her, she opened the cover and noticed different sketches of colorful attire as she skimmed the pages.

"You gotta pick ya outfit," he finished, and the biggest smile spread over her mouth.

"Oh my god," she beamed squeakily, looking through the pages. "They're all so cute. A lot of corsets though." She stopped at one page and giggled.

"This one, I like this one Mistah J."

She pointed at the picture in question, shifting the book so Frost and J could see. Frost chuckled, yet J frowned.

"Seriously, Harley?" he asked, giving her a knowing look.

"Why not? It's in the book. I like it."

She looked down triumphantly at her choice. It was a jumpsuit divided in red and black sections with a matching headpiece, just like an actual harlequin. "It's so adorable."

"We are trying to be taken seriously, Harley," she shot back at her. "I'm not going to have you running around Gotham dressed like that. Pick something else."

She frowned in disappointment, until she landed on a different page. She hovered over this one a bit, fumbling her lips as she inspected it.

"Do I get the shoes too with this one?"

She pointed at the high heeled sneakers. J nodded. "Yes, ya get ya shoes too."

"I want this one then."

She smiled coyly at the design of the red and blue jacket and matching shorts and fishnets, her finger tracing over the embroidery drawn on the jacket that read "Property of Joker."

"Then everyone will know I'm yours," she cooed, giving him a wet kiss on his cheek. She noticed Frost look down in embarrassment for his boss, while she pulled away from him before he could backhand her.

He took the book from her and handed it to Frost. "Have them start working on this," he told him bleakly, and Frost obliged, taking the book from his hands and observing the sketch of her as a mental note.

Both men stood at the same time, and Harley watched in confusion as they began to leave.

"Wait, who's gona watch me today?" she asked, folding her arms on the table. J didn't even look back at her.

"I'll send Hunter or one of the other idiots."

When she heard the door close, she realized she was actually alone, for how long she wasn't sure, but it was long enough.

~oOo~

Rocks and Vito struggled to carry the half conscious blonde inside, and with the little awareness she did possess, she made sure to make the task as difficult as possible for them, swinging her arms haphazardly, smacking them in their faces and hitting her head against theirs.

Her vision was still blurred, hearing rather incoherent. She was so confused that all she could do was laugh, laugh away the bewilderment and loss of logic. She couldn't see what was happening? She laughed. Couldn't hear clearly nor differentiate the multitude of male voices? She laughed. It had transformed into a squeaky, crazed laugh. It sounded like music whenever the hysteria left her mouth. She kept laughing and laughing because it was the only thing she could do.

She remembered being dropped onto a bed, not laid down carefully, but thrown down like a sack of potatoes. Landing on her face, she felt her glasses crack, snapping in the center. She laid there motionless for a while, the light hurting her eyes, snickering quietly in her own madness, trying to regain all her senses but only getting short glimpses of sanity returning to her.

The bed smelled so good, like expensive cologne. It smelled like what she would soon discover was the Joker's scent outside of Arkham Asylum. It filled her nostrils and brought a warming sensation to her belly. And the sheets were so silky and soft, she rubbed her cheek against them. It felt so freakishly good. This must have been his bed, his room. This must be where he would keep her, with him.

She was laughing lowly and inhaling the sheets over dramatically and rubbing her cheek against the silk. She couldn't see Rocks, Vito, and Frost standing behind her, all in matching black suits, watching her in a silent horror mixed with fascination.

"She is definitely fried," Vito spoke, catching Frost's stare. "Look at her, she's lost her mind." He extended his arms towards her to showcase her lunacy.

As if to prove his point, Harley had rolled over onto her side now, broken glasses still on her face, giggling feverishly as she tried to kick off her heels but failed. It only made her laugh harder.

Sighing, Jonny approached the girl, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to a seated position.

He started by removing her glasses, which were in two pieces now, then fought with her to remove her lab coat. She resisted him, shaking her head wildly and locking her arms at her sides.

"Harley this is for your own good. Boys, come and give me a hand."

The three of them struggled to remove her coat and shoes, until finally she sat comfortably on the bed, throwing herself onto her back.

"That feels soooo much better," she squealed, laughing again as she kicked her bare feet in the air.

Frost looked at Vito, narrowing his eyes. "Did her accent just change?"

"I'm telling you, she is brain damaged. We should just put her out of her misery now."

Rocks shook his head fiercely however, smacking Vito on his shoulder. "No way. You heard the boss. He likes this one. He will fucking slaughter us if anything happens to her."

"You heard him," Frost interjected, "He said by the time he gets out of that shower, he wants her alert and awake."

They looked at her again when they noticed her snoring.

Quickly, Frost had left the room and come back with a glass of water. Standing over Harley, he poured the liquid over her face. It was freezing cold and she sat up immediately, coughing and rubbing at her drenched skin.

"What the hell!" she screamed.

They all sat next to her, staring intently.

"What is your name?" asked Frost.

"Harley."

"What day is it?" Vito spoke.

She rubbed at her wet eyes. "I dunno. Wednesday?"

Rocks nudged her. "What's two plus two?"

"Four!" she beamed, holding up four slender fingers proudly. She brought them close to her eyes when she noticed her vision was compromised.

"Hey where my glasses at?"

"You broke them," Frost replied with a roll of his eyes.

"I can't see shit! Where is Mistah J?"

They noticed a sudden panic took over her, and when she tried to get up, they held her down.

"He's in the shower, he said he's washing the Arkham off of him," Jonny explained to her. "He'll be out shortly. You just relax and compose yourself. Got it?"

"Where am I? Is this his bedroom?"

"Yes, you're in his room," Vito explained.

"Am I going to live here now?" she asked turning her head with wide eyes so she could look at all three of them.

They could only shrug however. "I suppose so," Frost explained. "But I'm sure Boss will make sure you are real comfortable."

She rubbed at her eyes again, her head still pounding and mind racing. "Am I gona die? Is Mistah J gona kill me?" Tears started to well in her eyes, a panic consuming her. "Oh my god, Mistah J is gona kill me."

Again she tried to get up, and again, they held her down.

"Harley, fucking relax; nobody's gona kill you as long as you cooperate."

She was breathing heavily now, inhaling but unable to exhale. The boys looked at each other with concern, unsure how to handle the situation.

"Do you want some water, Harley?" asked Frost.

"I don't want no more water on my face!"

"I'll bring you in a glass, to drink."

Continuing to hyperventilate, she tried to control her breathing. "Ok," she answered in between breaths, and Frost departed hastily. Rocks and Vito sat at each side of her, holding her arms. Returning with a glass of water, Frost pressed it against her lips, in which she gulped thirstily. Within seconds the glass was empty. It felt like glorious ice down her horribly dry esophagus.

Once she was hydrated, her breathing had calmed, and her vision began to become clearer and less blurred, the scene of the room coming together in stability. The pounding in her head softened. But, she was not the same. She still felt different, felt wrong. Her memory had been tarnished, her intellect destroyed. What genius that had previously clouded her brain was now gone.

She was a different person now. Dr. Quinzel was dead. She had become Harley Quinn.

And it was at that realization when the Joker emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet and a towel wrapped around his hips. He was smiling victoriously, stretching his arms over his head, a merry grin plastered on his dark lips. His hair almost looked black when wet, slicked back neatly. Harley stared at him, both trepidation and desire welling up in her chest. His body was gorgeous, possessing the curves and tone she dreamed it had. He seemed almost angelic with his pale pasty skin.

"Great job today, boys!" he beamed, ignoring Harley and heading straight for the closet. His scent captured her nose as he walked by, the same intoxicating smell as his bed.

He came out minutes later, in black slacks, loafers, and a violet shirt buttoned down to his navel exposing nearly the entirety of his tattooed chest. As he finally took notice of her, he flipped down the collar of his shirt, kneeling before her, and then it felt to her that they were the only people in the room, their eyes locking, a grin painted on his face.

"And how's my little hostage?" He quirked, patting her cheek. Not harshly, but not gently either. He hands felt warm against her freezing skin.

She gulped, hoping to clear the painful lump in her throat. "I'm doin' great Mistah J," she stuttered.

He chuckled however, embracing both her cheeks, his stare burning a hole through her.

"You hear that fellas? You see how adorable I made her?"

To her surprise, he pressed a hard, damp kiss on her mouth, letting go of her face with such a force that she nearly fell back.

"Boys, leave us for a moment. I have some things to take care of with Miss Harley."

Obeying their boss, they left the two of them alone together, and there she became absolutely terrified.

"You messed me up," she spoke immediately, wanting to stand but knowing she wouldn't be able to support herself.

"No baby, I didn't mess you up. I fixed ya up." Sitting next to her, he caressed her hair, his chuckle rumbling inside her ear.

"What are you gona do? Are you gona kill me? Are ya gona hold me at ransom?"

"No, I have different plans for you. I don't have time for any other nonsense."

He stood and picked her up with him, supporting her as she struggled to maintain her balance. Without heels, she was much shorter than him as he seemed to tower over her, and he noticed the small curve of her waist from the tightness of her blouse, now that her lab coat was removed.

He observed her becoming dizzy again, watch her begin to lose consciousness. Pressing at the small of her back, he held her against him, and she was brought back to full alertness when he kissed her, taking her mouth in his and feverishly gliding his lips over hers.

Her mouth was wet from his saliva and from the inability to control her own when he pulled away from her, still holding her body for support.

"Everything will be OK," he assured her, a swift graveness darkening his features, "as long as you cooperate. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she answered bleakly.

"That means no trying to escape, no funny business. Because then I _will_ kill you." He grinned, and her heart stopped for a second.

"But, there's still one more thing we have to do before you are perfect."

Her head was still in so much pain, her coordination a mess. What else could he possibly want from her? Her life was already ruined and destroyed. There was no going back. He had lied about his intentions for her. He had lied about everything. Even with a frazzled mind, she would be a fool to believe him now.

But as she felt his breath hit her neck, and the scent of his body blissfully engulf her nostrils, she found her mouth hungrily reaching for his again. "I'll do anything," she breathed.

She kissed his bottom lip and he allowed her, feeling him smile underneath her caress.

"I have to make you just like me."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Money. Everywhere. In every drawer of every room she checked. Some organized, some thrown in messily. So much money, at first she tried to count it, but she lost count quickly and instead just tried to see where else she could find it. None of it was locked, and it seemed he wouldn't have even cared if anyone found it, they way he had it everywhere. There must have been more, then, a lot more, maybe inside the house, maybe circulating outside somehow.

She had grabbed a handful and stuck it in her shorts. She wasn't sure why, or if she would even need it. Was she going to plan an escape? Did she want to leave? Was she even a hostage anymore? Anything she wanted, J gave her, thus not even she was sure what possessed her to grab the money. But it felt so good holding it, even if she didn't need it. It just felt so damn good, that she took a stack of a grand and shoved it in her clothes. It tickled her skin but she didn't care. She had a thousand dollars in cash on her for no damn reason other than she could. Maybe this was the first taste of that beautiful power he had gushed to her about. Being filthy, unnecessarily, stupidly rich.

She wasn't sure why he left her alone, even for a short time, today. Did he actually trust her? Was he testing her somehow? The reason didn't matter. She had been trapped in the bedroom for two weeks and she wanted to explore. Opening a door, she discovered his office. It was very neat and orderly, almost eerily so. The hardwood floors shone brightly, classy vintage paintings hung from the walls. The overall ambiance of the room didn't seem to belong to his character. She had never expected him to be so refined, so cultured, to have such fine tastes.

When she sat at his desk chair, a chill took over her body. The seat was large and comfortable, and the wheels began to slide back the moment she hopped onto it. Scooting her feet, she pulled herself at the edge of his desk, immediately scrummaging through pages of scribbled notes, all almost illegible. Frantic she became looking through all his things, hoping to find something interesting, something exciting.

Then she found the photographs.

There were several, candid shots. As if the subjects didn't know they were being photographed. Some were of a woman, some were of a man. Some they were together. And they seemed to be in love.

Holding hands, at a restaurant, some taken from a window from what it seemed of the inside of their home.

He was handsome, tanned, with jet black hair slicked back. She was equally beautiful, tall and slender, long black hair and olive toned skin. There were more pictures of her then there were of him.

Bringing a photograph of the woman close to her face, Harley observed it carefully. The woman smiled blithely in the photo, as if she had absolutely no worries, no concerns. Why did J have all these pictures of her? Who was she?

Hastily, she looked through his pile of notes again, hoping to unscramble the puzzle. Yet, she could barely read any of it. Looking through the drawers of his desk, she found more papers, maps, even money. Another drawer, a handgun. And then at last, in the final drawer, a stack of papers with a mugshot pinned to the front. It was of the man in the photos, but it looked like it was taken years ago.

Underneath the photo read "Bianchi, Angelo. 2005"

A loud exhale fled her mouth as she bean to blink repeatedly, a sudden dryness taking her eyes. Hungrily, she began to read the pages that followed. It was typed nicely, like a professional file that was prepared for him. She learned of Angelo's past, where he was born, his Italian upbringing, his first arrest for drug dealing. It went on to explain the empire he created for methamphetamine, and how his family became involved in the mafia.

Her face clenched when she reached the section about the Joker, and the business they had conducted together. Angelo had become a mass producer of the drug, and they had reached a deal in which J would become a distributor. It was a massive drug deal gone wrong, one that lost J millions of dollars and a betrayal on Angelo's part that landed the Joker locked up in Arkham Asylum.

Angelo was married to a woman named Alexandra, also Italian. And once she learned that information, she set the papers down carefully, not daring to read another word.

As she attempted to put everything away in the manner it was, Harley could not shake off the foreboding feeling that had taken over her. She had been living in such a blissful naivety, she didn't even think about what was happening while she was in the bedroom all day watching TV. What J was up to all those hours he was gone. Even then, she still did not completely comprehend the darkness she had invited herself into.

Closing the door behind her, she left the room, shuddering as she exited. There was one last room she had yet to venture, and when she placed her palm on the knob, she realized it was locked. A frown pursing her lips, she tried a little more profoundly to open the door, but she was unsuccessful.

The only room J had kept locked, it appeared, and that information alone made her persistent to get inside. Skipping to their bedroom, she found a bobby pin, placing it on her teeth and bending it as she made her way back to the door in question. As she knelt down, one eye squinted shut as she focused on placing the pin carefully into the mechanism and began to manipulate it. Her tongue glossed over her dry lips, sweat perspiring on her forehead as she focused on the task, fiddling with the bobby pin until she heard a gracious click that made her heart stop.

Her heart was pounding so vehemently as she turned the knob and entered the room, her knees shaking as she walked inside. It was dark, but she was too afraid to turn on the lights. Slowly, she crept inside, the tile floors cold against her feet. It was chilly and the aura she felt intense, it made her immediately uncomfortable. And before she could get far, she found herself screaming in a sudden burst of pain, quickly falling to her knees and grasping achingly at her right foot. It was covered in blood.

The thick crimson liquid leaked from the center of the bottom of her foot in a long, straight line, painting her skin a dark red and creating a small puddle on the floor. Tears filled her eyes as she squeezed her skin to hurry along the worst of the bleeding. Next to her she noticed the source of her wound, a sharp machet knife. And then right next to it, another, then another. The more she saw, the more her breath quickened. and she was crawling on her hands and knees now, searching for a source of light, pushing away from her more knives, so many knives she couldn't even fathom it.

When her trembling bloody hands clutched a lamp of the ground, she struggled to turn it on, her body shaking madly now and soft whimpers evading her throat. Her eyes squinted as a delicate light took over the room, and once her vision readjusted, her eyes widened in simultaneous fear and disbelief, her lips parting involuntarily, while she fell back and used her hands for support.

She found herself in the center of a spherical alter of knives and guns, decorating the room, the circle small and intimate.

She gazed at the magnificence, the insanity. She would have classified him as a full blown psychopath at Arkham if she had seen it then. It was beautiful yet horrific, her short bloody trail adding to the adornment.

The knives were aligned neatly, while guns and roses garnished the outer circle. With a steady hand, she picked up the knife that had sliced her foot, looking at her reflection on the glossy bloody blade. Taking the end of her shirt, she wipes the blood off the knife, placing it back to its original section of his masterpiece.

And carefully, she laid herself on her back, in the center of the circle, allowed herself to be surrounded by his arsenal, to engulf herself in his madness for a moment, hoping to understand him more, to feel his fervor, his deadly lunacy. As blood gushed from her foot and staining her shirt, as money laid stashed in her underwear-as she lied there with legs parted and hands supporting her head, encompassed by his weaponry...there she began to feel it...only a hint of it. That sense of power he had confessed to her.

She felt safe, untouchable. A smile oddly crept on her lips, while tears slipped down her cheeks. And there she began to laugh, her howling echoing through the room, the wetness that spilled from her eyes traveling down her face and neck to her clavicle. She laughed and cried so hard, hugging herself from the hysteria. There was no word to describe the feeling she experienced at that moment. Not even she was aware what had taken over her. Slowly, the fear and the darkness was getting to her, beginning to make a mark on her brain.

There was so much more to that room she did not explore, and dared not to. Removing her shirt, she wiped away the trail of blood before exiting and locking the door.

She held the bloodied shirt against her naked chest, leaning her back against the door while breathing heavily. A cloudiness had enveloped her eyes, a normal response to all she had witnessed did not emerge. Instead, she went to the bedroom and took a shower, letting the money she stole drop onto the bathroom floor as she removed her clothes. Throwing her blood stained shirt messily into the garbage, she winced in pain as the water hit her foot, and then stood there dreamily while the shower ran, becoming drenched, wondering what would happen to her now.

She could only wait for J to find out, because he would, most definitely. She would wait and see what he would do to her.

He came home earlier than usual that night. He never did send any of his boys to tend to her. It was around ten when he entered their bedroom quietly. Usually he would ignore her at first, but this time he stood by the door, leaning against the entrance and looking at her, rolling his jaw and rubbing at the bottom of his chin.

She sat stomach first on the opposite end of the bed, her eyes shifting from the television to his broading figure. She feigned a short smile towards him, dressed in a clean t-shirt and sweat pants.

"Hey Puddin," she greeted him quietly, not as cheerfully as she would have usually.

He studied her closely, his dark lips shifting on his face.

"That's not what you were wearing this afternoon," he observed, and she chuckled.

"I took a shower, puddin."

She felt her heart stop and body stiffen as he approached her, seating himself on the bed beside her. Inwardly she gasped when he placed his hand solidly on her derriere. And slowly from there he traveled down the length of her leg, and stopped at her ankles.

"Cute socks," he muttered, looking her dead in the eye.

"Thanks, puddin." She winked at him, but her attempts to be playful were weak.

She grunted in pain when he grabbed onto her wounded foot harshly, then with his other hand grasped a fist full of her hair and yanked her up to him.

"Was somebody going through Daddy's things?" he spat in her face. His breath was hot and hitting her skin in sweltering bursts. She couldn't tell if he was mad or excited.

"You left me alone. All day," she pointed out to him.

He laughed, however, pulling more tightly on her hair, while she winced at the pain radiating through her scalp.

"I did, didn't I?" he beamed, and suddenly smirked. He threw her back down onto the bed, in which the back of her head landed harshly on a pillow. He didn't face her as he stood, adjusting his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Get dressed, I have a job for you."

Blinking repeatedly, she rubbed at the soreness on her head. "A job?"

Briefly, he turned around, giving her a grave stare. "Get. Dressed."

~oOo~

"I don't remember my past life. I have a few scenarios I've come up with over the years. I'm not sure which are true and which I made up. But there's one in particular that has taken a permanent spot in my mind, and I'd like to consider it a part of my story."

She watched him as he leaned against the railing, looking down at the vat of chemicals beneath them. Beside him she stood, and he appeared short of a blur to her. Without her glasses, it was difficult to see clearly, so he held her hand, but his attention was deeply focused on the acid below, his eyes fixated on the bubbling yellow liquid, engrossed in its beauty and grotesqueness.

"This is where I was born," he continued, then slowly turned his head and met her gaze. There was a neutral expression lodged in his eyes. She couldn't read his emotions, couldn't tell if he was lying or being honest with her. But his words were so moving and charming, she couldn't help but be utterly transfixed.

"You fell inside," she asked, glancing at the vats below them, "In there?"

Sadly, he smiled, his grip on her hand tightening. "Many years ago. And it was the greatest and worst thing that ever happened to me."

Harley could feel him emitting a different sort of presence, one she would seldom experience in his company. There she saw his shoulders relax, a glassiness to his eyes. And again he gazed at the acid, the wretched glowing chemicals, as if losing himself to some sort of memory he held onto.

"I think my name was Jack," he continued. "And I think I was married."

She expected him to chuckle or burst out laughing, something that was show his true character, the manic ruthless one he was famous for. But he remained standing there expressionless, looking down hopelessly, trying to organize the mess of thoughts in his brain.

It was a tale that sounded so far fetched, she was surprised even he could believe in it.

"Ya see, babe, this look, this wasn't me before 20 years ago. I used to be young and stupid and...human." He paused, taking in a deep breath, lifting his gaze from the vats to the ceiling. They were surrounded by a dull yellowy hue, setting a apprehensive yet sanguine environment. She felt his fingers curl against her own, his thumb grazing against hers.

"Again, not sure if this really happened, maybe it did, maybe it didn't. Maybe I'm just making all this up. But for years I have seen this face, of someone I must have loved. And I don't know her name or who she is or if she's even still alive if she exists. But I see that face as bright as day. And I guess I was married to her, because she was pregnant. She was pregnant and I couldn't support her, so I delved into this violent life, dipped my foot into the world of crime."

Now he looked at her, digging his eyes into her own, spilling his soul deep inside her. "We all start out with good intentions. Every single one of us," he spoke gravely, his voice low and solemn. "Nobody chooses to walk into this world just for the fuck of it. We walk in with fucking dreams and goals, but it's all fucked up. Nobody walks in and leaves the same. Nobody walks in and leaves alive. Once you come into this world, you are reborn into it, you live for it, you die for it. And I guess that's what happened to me. I guess I must have been a good man before. If this really even fucking happened, I mean."

She saw him start to shake, taking deep controlled breaths to calm himself. Briskly, he removed his hand from hers, resuming his gaze back down, down to his untimely origin.

"I became a criminal. Not yet a hardened one, but I was faced with the Bat even then. And we were here, at this exact chemical plant, about 20 years ago, and in my attempts to out run him, I ended up falling inside one of these vats. That is my first real memory, emerging from the acid a changed man, an entirely different person. I was better, stronger. I lost all emotions and focused my energy on building an empire. And whatever life I may have had, I left behind. I don't remember who I was or if any of it even happened. But that face, that god damned face..."

She saw the glassiness thicken in his eyes and quickly he turned away from her, to which she noticed a slight tremble take his body.

"Harley, do you love me?"

She froze at his words, her lips parting as her arms stiffened at her sides.

He turned around, quickly grabbing both her hands and gently pressing his nose against hers.

Tears began to well in her eyes, a dry lump digging at her throat.

"Yes," she answered him. "I love you."

"Would you give up your life for me, your memories, your entire past?"

She paused. "Yes." It came out in a whisper.

"Everything you ever knew and ever loved. Would you let it go just to be with me?"

Lightly she exhaled, a tear dripping down her cheek towards her ear. "Do I have a choice?" she asked shakily.

"I would say you made the choice the moment you handed me that gun," he spoke coarsely, then petted her cheek, wiping away her tear. "But I need to hear it. I need you to say it. Will you give your life to me?"

Dread filled her as she realized the intent of his words. Taking a step back, her heart beat accelerated.

"I...I can't...I can't do that..."

"Why, why not?" He seemed to be in a panic now. "I need you. Don't you understand that? Why do you think I haven't killed you? Disposed of you?"

Tears were fleeing madly from her eyes now, as she began to shake her head at him, freeing her hands from his grasp. "No! I can't do this! I won't go in!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared!"

His hand felt cold against her hot skin when he grabbed her cheeks, pulling her towards him. And there he kissed her, gently but with a silent passion. "Why do I need to do this?" she breathed against his mouth.

"Because to be with me, you need to forget who you were."

More tears dropped as she blinked. "Will it hurt?"

"Like fucking hell."

She paused, her whole body immersed in a tremble. "Will you stay with me forever?"

"Yes, I will." Caressing her cheek, he smiled softly at her. "I ain't going nowhere baby, sweetheart, pumpkin, cherry pie. Puddin."

She found the corner of her mouth tug nervously upward. And then turning around, she looked down at the vats below her.

With a steady deep breath, she removed her heels, placing them gently on the floor. Smoothing out her black pencil skirt, she watched the liquid bubble. Through her blurred vision it almost looked beautiful, like a golden bubbly bath. As she turned around to face the Joker, their eyes locked one last time before she closed her own, extending her arms, then throwing herself down.

It felt like she was dying as she fell to her doom, as the breeze pressed against her skin and through her hair. And the final moment when she landed into the vat, the acid torching at her skin. She tried to scream but felt the horrible liquid fill her lungs, capture her eyes, begin to tear away at her clothes. She felt herself boiling in the acid for several minutes before slowly losing consciousness, sinking deep into the vat, the only trace of her still inside was the bubbling of the liquid above.

She felt herself come back to life when cold lips breathed into her mouth, and she found herself choking, gasping for breath, then being held tightly, securely, protectively. Several times she blinked hastily, her vision returning to her, sharp and cleared and focus. She marveled at the sudden crispiness she witnessed, and the face of the Joker, the dark crimson paint on his mouth smeared, as his violet shirt began to disintegrate in the acid, mixing with the hue of her blue blouse.

He held her so closely that she felt absolutely connected to him, intertwined with his soul. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she allowed him to kiss her, tasting the acid, feeling it travel down her throat and enter the entirety of her body. They kissed harder, deeper, and soon they were only covered in rags and pieces of their clothing.

She was in so much pain, her body blistered from the chemicals. As he lifted her out of the vat, she shrieked in torment, shriveling in his arms, beginning to hyperventilate. She immediately noticed the pale complexion of her skin, matching his own. The ends of her hair had dyed from the bleeding of their shirts. And from that point on, slowly she began to lose sight of who she was, and focused only on him. He became her world, her existence. With her chemical baptism did she officially submit her life to him, delivered her soul.

She had become his. His property, his toy, his weapon, his release. His Harley Quinn.

~oOo~

She had put on a dress. She had done her makeup. She wore her nicest heels. It appeared she was ready for a night out on the town. But he brought her to Ace Chemical Plant, and led her to a scene which she would never forget.

There stood Hunter, Drake, and Frost, in their usual fine black suits and neatly glossed hair. Holding her hand tightly, J led her to the men, pulling her as she dragged behind him.

She looked at the henchmen, then her eyes trailed down to the ground, in which a sickness came over her and her knees grew weak.

"Mistah J...what is...what is this?"

He let go of her hand briskly, taking a step away from her as he kneeled onto the floor towards the object of her attention.

"Harley don't be rude now," he beamed. "This is a _she_. Meet Alexandra, Angelo's wife."

The woman sat on her knees, ankles and wrists tied together, thick white tape over her mouth, her whole body trembling madly while her hair was a disheveled mess. Her face was soaked as more tears continued to spill mercilessly from her dark brown almond shaped eyes.

Harley found herself speechless, unable to process the sight before her. Pressing a palm to her forehead, she shook her head slowly. "J, what is going on? What are we doing here?"

J laughed however, taking the cheeks of Alexandra and patting her in a harsh affection. "Oh, isn't she just beautiful fellas? Angelo sure picked a gorgeous one."

Alexandra remained gracefully silent, continuing to sob in her restraints.

Looking up at his men, J cocked his head towards them. "Go wait outside boys, leave me and the ladies alone for a moment."

Harley watched in horror and agony as the three men left the room. Stumbling backward, she tried to gain her composure.

"Mistah J, I don't understand what is happening here," she choked out.

Narrowing his eyes, he shot Harley a low glare. "You don't understand do ya? Maybe Miss Mafia here can enlighten you a little." He pulled the tape off her mouth with such force that she wailed in pain from the impact of his gesture. Unable to speak for a moment, loud sobs poured from her throat, echoing throughout the plant.

"Please, please,"she finally begged between sobs. "Whatever Angelo did, whatever it is you want-"

The Joker laughed however, cutting her off, stroking her cheek as he forced her head against his chest.

"The poor thing, she doesn't even know her husband is a drug lord. "

She cried harder.

"Just a poor victim in this mess. Fell in love with the wrong person. Didn't even know what kind of a life she was getting into."

He stroked her hair, her tears wetting the skin of his chest. Her cries were loud and wretched, and Harley couldn't watch any more of it.

"J," she spoke harshly, folding her arms over her chest. "What the fuck is happening here?"

His eyes snapped at her boldness, as he let go of Alexandra and let her land on the floor, her cries continuing to consume her.

"You know very well what is happening here," he replied, rising and approaching Harley. "Angelo fucked me over and now we are going to return the favor."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a hand gun, placing it into Harley's palm. A smirk curved at his lips. "And you're going to do the honor."

The weapon felt cold against her skin, and a sudden metallic taste cursed her tongue. She was shaking her head at him now, tears welling in her eyes, taking steps back away from him.

"No, no. I won't do it, J! No! I won't do it!"

She tried to drop the gun, but he dug it deeper into her flesh, his eyes burning a hole through her.

"You're going to fucking do it, Harley! I've had enough of you playing house and being useless. If you love me, you are going to do this and you won't say another word!"

"Fuck you!" she screamed, her throat hurting from the harshness of her hysterical tone. "I ain't killing an innocent person! She ain't done nothing to you! If Angelo fucked you over why don't you just off him, huh? Why do you fucking have to hurt people who ain't done nothing to ya?"

The gun remained in his grasp, and with a merry smile he threw his arm back and whacked the side of her head with it. The blow was intense and for a moment she saw spurs of blackness, the contents of the room spinning until everything stopped and again she was faced with the same horrific scene. She placed a hand at her throbbing temple, tears soaking her face, and there she looked down at the victim, the woman who remained tied on the ground, pleading for her life with her eyes.

"Please," she begged again. "If it's about the money, I will make sure Angelo gives you whatever he promised."

However, the Joker only laughed at her plea, his chuckles loud and controlled. "Honey, this ain't about the money," he snapped back, looking down at her coyly. "I got plenty of money. You see, it's about the principle. Your husband screwed me over. I do business with a lot of people in this city, and those who dare cross me don't get off so easy."

And there he returned his gaze to Harley, approaching her gently, caressing her cheek as she whimpered in his touch. She could feel his breath hit her skin, could feel the gun pressed softly against her cheek. As he kissed her swollen mouth, she closed her eyes briefly, continuing to cry, to shake from the terror.

"Harley baby, didn't you make me a promise?" he whispered against her lips. "I thought you loved me? That you'd do anything for me."

"I would," she sniveled, breathing in the mucus forming in her nose. "But, I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. You see, sometimes innocent people have to die in this life we live. This is what needs to happen for us to continue to hold the respect that we have. You don't want Daddy to lose his respect do you?"

"No," she spoke softly.

Kissing her damp forward, he took her hands once more, resting the gun in her palms.

"Then you have to do this for me, baby."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"Because," he began, massaging her knuckles. "You have to start somewhere."

And there he smiled his signature, crazed, chaotic smile, his grill sparkling, his mouth curved dramatically.

It was then when she curled her fists and accepted the gun, quivering as he let go of her and took a step back.

"Good girl," he murmured, kissing her bruising temple. "Now make Daddy proud."

Alexandra screamed as Harley took her stance, standing with legs apart, her entire body quivering madly as she held the gun with both hands and pointed it at the captive woman.

"Please, please don't! Please!"

Her begging and screams rang through Harley's ears, but she blocked out the noise, clenching her teeth and closing her eyes as she placed a finger on the trigger.

"Wait."

Her eyes flung open at the sound of J's voice, and she saw him walk over, past Alexandra, to a chair behind them. There she noticed for the first time, a baseball bat. It looked brand new and untouched, void of any markings. Taking hold of it casually he held it over his shoulder and brought it to Harley.

"Frost brought this in case she was out of line," he explained, extending the weapon to her as if it were a gift. "I want you to use this instead of the gun."

The color drained from her eyes. "W-what?"

"I want you use to _this_ ," he retorted gravely, grabbing the gun from her hands and replacing it with the bat, "to kill her."

She was at a loss for words, the pounding of her heart mixed with the wails of Alexandra sending her to a frenzied state.

"But that will take, it will be-"

"Do it, Harley!"

Firmly she gripped the bat, feeling splinters dig into her fingers. And cautiously did she approach Alexandra, looking down at her with tears in her eyes, hearing her sob and continue to beg for her life. And there did she remembered the pictures she saw that afternoon. How happy and naive she looked. And now her naivety would end, as would her life.

Lifting the bat, she stuttered, holding it in the air as a tremor took over her.

"Damn it, Harley! Do it! Do it now!"

With a roaring, fierce grunt, she closed her eyes at his loud, fervent order, swinging the bat and felt the impact of the body that it hit. She heard the scream, but blocked the noise again. She closed her eyes and saw her victim no more. She swung the bat again, and again. Faster she went, harder, more passionate. She wasn't swinging anymore, but just smashing the wood down over and over again, feeling blood splash on her face, hearing the screams grow more shriveled and frantic. She was trapped in a frenzy now, throwing the bat madly, crazily. Even after the screaming had ended and the silence consumed. Even when J grabbed at her shoulder to get her to stop, she kept at it, her own scream leaving her mouth now, tears drenching her cheeks.

He grabbed the bat from her and it dropped to the ground, but she still made the frenzied movements, still trying to finish her job. He hugged her tightly against him and she tried to fight off his embrace, screaming and wailing. She tried to fight him until she could resist no more and fell weakly into his embrace, crying into his shoulder, feeling her body go limp.

Tenderly he caressed her hair, kissing the side of her neck. "You did good, Harley. You did real good."

There she found the strength to open her eyes, the blue in them trembling as she witnessed the mess she created. The woman who had sat there helplessly was no longer recognizable. Blood engulfed her body, her head badly beaten and disfigured. She lied there motionless, lifeless, not even a gentle rise and fall to her chest to signal any sort of life in her.

She was dead. And she had killed her.

A low, mortified moan fled Harley's lips, pushing the Joker off of her, collapsing on the ground, and dipping her knees and palms in the crimson lake that encircled her.

She cried the hardest she ever had, wailing, screaming, digging her nails into her cheeks, covering her face in Alexandra's blood. For the longest time she sat there, until slowly her sobs turned into subtle laughter, and then the laughter into mass hysteria.

And she found herself laughing, laughing while tears continued to drench her face, laughing so hard her stomach hurt, her laughter filling the entire plant.

She felt the Joker kneel beside her, gently taking her hand and bringing her back up.

Pulling his phone from his pant pocket, he pressed the screen and brought it to his ear.

"Frost, get yourselves back in here and get the body. You're dropping her off in front of his house."

Holding Harley's hand, he attempted to lead her away, but she refused to move, her laughter ending, now staring at the mess she had created in silent agony. As her eyes rolled back into her head, she passed out, landing in the Joker's arms, feeling his warmth as she lost consciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

She wouldn't speak the rest of the night.

Not until J carried her from the car into their home did she regain consciousness, and she could feel it, the blood that spotted her face, that deep crimson that dyed her knees and her dress, blemishing her shoes, her palms, her elbows. The smell was so strong, the sweet metallic scent filling her nostrils and lingering there, refusing to leave, to let her smell anything else but its revolting odor.

Tears prickled at her eyes while she pressed her face against his shoulder, as he carried her inside and to their bathroom. She refused to look at him as he placed her on top of the sink, removing her shoes, then lifting her dress off of her. Harley kept her gaze low, tears concealed as they pecked at her eyes. She couldn't look at him, but he made her look at him. Grabbing her chin, he lifted her gaze to him, with an eerie uneasy gentleness. Their eyes locked and for the first time she felt it. She felt pure hatred. A scowl took over her face as his stare penetrated into her being. It was as if he wanted her to hate him, was tantalizing her. At that moment she hated him so much, with such a pure bellowing repulsion. She hated him so much that her hands curled into fists and lightly she began to tremble. Even as he wiped the blood off her skin with a towel, she imagined herself killing him. And for the first time that night a sense of loathing joy pounded at her chest as she engaged the fantasy.

As they laid in bed in the darkness of the night, he tried to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and bring her close to him. She refused his affection repeatedly. Was he rewarding her? Was he proud of her accomplishment? His touch felt like burnt coal and she pushed him away each time he made an advance. After several attempts he had given up silently, turning his back to her.

She laid for an hour in near silence, the only audible noise was his light breathing beside her. She stayed there lost in a parade of thoughts, preventing her from sleeping. She could still hear Alexandra's voice, begging for her life, could still feel the bat in her hand, her fingers still sore from her harsh grip on the wood. And her actions replayed themselves over and over in her mind-the swinging, the frenzy of swings she took at her.

As she remembered, her eyes closed shut in agony and distress, her body curling into a ball, while tears stung inside her eyes. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't make a sound. But she could feel the horrible pain in her heart. And there she realized it was not him she truly hated, but herself.

Silently, she rose from the bed, going to the bathroom. As she closed the door and turned on the light, she stared at her reflection. She could still see a few specks of blood on her face. Her makeup was messily washed off, eyeliner smeared under her eyes. She could feel an uncomfortable breeze travel up her short nightgown. For a long moment she gazed at the mirror, tears streaming down her face, silently shuddering as she grasped onto the corners of the sink. With her heavy breathing, her shoulders lifted and fell. She did not recognize the person she saw in the mirror. She didn't know who she was supposed to be now, but she did not want to be this thing he was trying to create. She could not allow him to turn her into a monster.

Violently she shook her head at the thought, shutting her eyes as the misery of the situation took hold of her. "No," she whispered. "No...I won't let this happen."

She felt her body crumble, collapsing to the floor, curling underneath herself as she buried her face in her knees. "I won't let this happen," she sobbed again, and there she lifted her head and wiped her eyes, her face distorting into a dire expression.

Swiftly she stood and exited the bathroom, the bedroom, walking down the hallway until she entered his office. The door creaked as it opened, and there was an uncanny serenity as she walked into the darkness. The cold air hit her skin, she could still feel the ache in her wounded foot. Straight to his desk she walked, seating herself on his chair, remaining there for a moment taking deep, audible breaths.

Small droplets began to taint the wood of the table. She allowed them to fall mercilessly from her eyes. The scent of his cologne lingered in the room, and she could feel his energy, his presence. It drove her mad, insane. It made her want to kill again, want to do anything to make him happy. It made her despicably sick.

Heaving a loud sigh through her nose, she hastily opened one of the drawers, one in particular she had remembered from that afternoon. Her heart stopped when she noticed the untouched contents. There remained the hand gun, shinning a bright silver in the darkness. It almost looked like jewelry to her. As she picked it up by the handle, she licked her lips, holding it close to her, looking at the weapon with coinciding fear and lust.

She was sobbing uncontrollably now, yet silently, as tears fled her eyes in thick layers. Lifting the gun, she closed her eyes and pressed the tip against her temple. It felt soothing on her skin, like a cool, affectionate touch. Yet, she could barely hold it steadily as a mad tremor took over her entire body, the gun unsteady in her grip, the metal tickling her head.

Whimpers evaded her mouth now, her eyes closing even harder, her body shaking more feverishly.

This was not the life she wanted.

This was not the life she was promised.

This was not the person she wanted to be. She would not become this person. She would not let him mold her into his image.

She had seen only a glimpse of his true form, and it was enough to scare her away forever.

And with a deep breath, she positioned her index finger at the trigger.

"You're a fucking idiot."

Instantly her eyes burst open, gasping as she repositioned the gun to aim ahead of her. There she saw J's silhouette against the door. He stood there dreamily, leaning against the entrance rather casually, his arms folded at his naked chest. The darkness emphasized his sleek angular jaw, the depth of his deep eyes, the arch of his brow bone.

She was still shaking, still crying, and she flicked the gun, making sure he was well aware she was pointing directly at him.

"Leave me alone, Mistah J!" she spat out, her voice cracking. "I'm gona do this and you ain't gona stop me!"

He chuckled however, lowly, lightly. "Are you really that weak, Harley? You really gona blow your brains out over a person you didn't even know?"

"She didn't deserve to die!"

"Shit happens, Harley! It's a part of this lifestyle!"

She stiffened as he began to approach her now, her grip on the gun tightening as she held the handle with both hands. He leaned before her, pressing his elbows on the opposing end of the desk. She could feel his hot breath hitting her skin.

Looking him directly in the eye, she brought the gun back to her head, her lips trembling. "I don't want to be part of this life," she retorted shakily.

"You made a choice." His stare was deadly, as his gaze never left hers.

"I didn't make any choices!" she yelled, digging the gun into her flesh as a hysteria took over her. "You made all my choices! You fried my brains and threw me in the tank! You ruined my life and fucked me up! I didn't have a choice! You lied to me! And because I loved you I followed you like a fucking idiot!"

She motioned to pull the trigger, pursing her lips, but he could only laugh.

"Well if you're so serious about it, then do it," he taunted her, reaching his finger and placing it securely at her forehead. "End your miserable life. For the first time tonight I was proud of ya. But it looks like I was wrong about you, Harley. Because you're weak. So just do me a favor and off yourself so I can get some sleep."

Deep in the pit of her soul did she feel her rage burn. At that moment she felt a pure blithering abhorrence. She saw his face grinning at her and she wanted to destroy him. There her trembling stopped, and the tears ceased to fall. With a quick, firm hand she flipped the gun from the side of her head and pressed it onto the center of his forehead.

"I'll kill you first," she spat, her hatred towards him pouring from her glare. "Do the world a fucking favor."

He chuckled again however, unphased by the weapon threatening him. Instead, he rested his cheek against his palm.

"You think you'll be a fucking hero?" he chortled. "You filthy fucking murderer."

"I'll be a fucking saint! A martyr! And you'll just be a dead fucking clown!"

"Oh, shut up, Harley. Just shut up. Do you hear the shit you're saying? Stop making yourself the fucking victim. You ain't no victim, sweetheart. The second you decided to bust me out of Arkham you became one of us."

"You lied to me! You told me we would be together!"

"Well, looky here! We are together! One sweet happy couple!"

"Not like this!" The sobs came back to her, as she began to weep mercilessly, crumbling before him. "Not like this, Mistah J!"

Her finger smoothed over the trigger, trembling there for a moment. "This is the only life I can give you," he whispered to her, as a thick glassiness consumed her eyes. "This is the only life I know. If you love me, you'll just suck it up and grow some fucking balls."

Even to his surprise, she then stood from the chair, a peculiar smile tugging at her lips. "If I love you?" she mocked him, laughing as she wiped at the wetness on her face with her forearm. "If I fucking love you?"

Climbing onto the desk, she kneeled before him, taking the gun and smashing it against his jaw. His neck turned sharply from the impact.

"Harley, if you love me you'll jump into the tank!" she screamed, hitting him again, jamming the weapon on his forehead. The blow sent him onto the ground, landing on his rear. Jumping off the desk, she landed on top of him, straddling him.

"Harley if you love me, you'll kill this lady for me, because I'm too big of a bitch to do it myself!"

She elbowed him powerfully into his stomach, in which he grunted. A passionate lunacy had overtaken her now, as she kept hitting him over and over again, pounding the gun into his head. However, a smirk had curved his lips as blood dripped from his mouth.

"That's enough," he choked, overpowering her as he grabbed her shoulders and threw her down, her head hitting the wooden floors painfully. He struggled to take the gun from her grasp, but succeeded, now having her at his mercy.

"I've had it with your outburst," he bellowed, clutching her neck and lifting her body to meet his gaze. His face was bloodied and bruised, his breath boiling her flesh. He squeezed her neck tighter, causing her to gasp.

"Now you're gona get up, beg for my forgiveness, and go back to fucking bed. Do you understand me?"

She stared at him coldly, gasping for breath.

"Well do you?"

Instead of answering, she kneed him in the chest and smashed her forehead against his.

He grunted, the blow sending the both of them back. Harley attempted to stand, but he grabbed her leg and pulled her to him, in which she kicked him in his abdomen. He fought through her strikes at him, however, finally grabbing her and slapping her cheek with such a force she saw absolute blackness for a long moment.

"Fuck you, J! Fuck you to hell!"

He hit her again, and she groaned from the pain. She felt the palm of his hand strike at her jaw once more, and then his fist crash against her nose. Keeping a muffled cry trapped in her throat, she closed her eyes shut, waiting for him to continue to pummel her, clenching her body beneath him in preparation for the pain.

But instead he kissed her, deeply, passionately, the blood from his mouth leaking into hers. And though her first instinct was to fight him off her, instead she moaned into his embrace, trapping her arms around him, her legs clutching at his hips. The gun had clamored onto the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room. She hadn't forgotten why she was upset, and she still very much cared. But the brutality had caused her body to be hot and ravenous, and too quickly did they remove their clothes and give into their manic heated desires.

She felt him fill her and she moaned loudly beneath him, extending her neck, bending her knees. He moved inside her with such a satisfying roughness that she felt her first climax arrive almost immediately, her heart pounding against the walls of her chest as her center began to burn with a euphoric glorious passion. Her moan left her mouth in a shriek, her entire body quivering, while her center throbbed in pure satisfaction.

A grunt evaded her throat as he picked her up to her feet, spinning her body around and throwing her face onto his desk, her cheek pressed against his notes as she bent over the table. Her fingers dug into the wood of the desk as he entered her from behind, thrusting into her brutally, angrily, powerfully. It hurt and yet it felt so horribly wonderfully, hitting the perfect spot inside her, causing her to burst into a nonstop series of deep throaty moans, screaming his name, burying her face on the table as she became absolutely immersed in the ecstasy of the moment.

Her climax came to her in long intense session, consuming her core and radiating throughout her body. It was an explosion of pure uninterrupted pleasure, and the harder he moved inside her, the bigger and stronger it grew, until it evolved into a feeling she could no longer handle, her body shaking and consumed by a tremor. Screams were fleeing from her now, her fists pounding on the desk. She was screaming and the high was not disintegrating but growing stronger and beautifully chaotic.

She felt him grab hold of her hips, turning her around and lifting her so she sat on his desk. Sweat dripped from both their bodies, their breaths heavy and uncontrollable. Their eyes met and Harley parted her lips as he grappled her knees and pulled them apart, her center pulsating and leaking wetness. When he pressed himself inside her again, her back arched as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She tried to moan but no sound came out. Slipping his arms around her, he held her close to him, as she entangled hers around his neck, holding him as securely as she could.

She could feel his sweat mix with her own, their bodies sliding against each other. Her mouth pressed against the side of his neck, her tongue glossing over his wet warm skin. She jerked at every intense thrust, felt his fingers dig into her shoulder blades as a manic passion took over him, moving swifter and more frenzied within her. The desk began to shake, and more screams left her throat. As he reached his own magnificent finish, they held onto each other closely, securely, and even after he groaned and ended inside her, they remained in that position, in that sticky sweaty embrace, the sounds of their breaths uniting and creating their own elegant rhythm.

She hugged him harder, and after a moment he returned the gesture, squeezing her as well. And there he picked her up and carried her back to their bed, placing her down gently. She laid flat on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling, a light breeze hitting her naked body, causing her nipples to pucker.

When she felt his weight fill the space next to her, she sighed, leaving them in silence for a while.

"J," she whispered.

"Yes Harley."

"Sorry I beat the shit out of you."

He paused. "No, you didn't."

"Yea. I kind of did."

She heard him sigh as well, and could sense his annoyance. When he didn't respond, she turned on her side to look at him. He laid just as she was, hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

"Well? Ain't you gona apologize for beating the shit out of me?"

He didn't even look at her. "No. I don't ever apologize. Ever."

A frown curved her lips, and she found herself turning her back to him and nestling against her pillow. After a while, she felt him snuggle up against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back to him. This time she didn't push him away.

"Hey J," she began again quietly.

"Yes." She felt his breath hit her ear.

"Will I have to kill more innocent people like that?"

He didn't answer her immediately, while he sighed against her hair. "Not too many. But sometimes it's mandatory. Do you understand, Harley?"

There was a graveness in his tone, one that made her uncomfortable and fresh tears sting at her eyes.

"I feel sick," she confessed.

"They always do at first," he spoke softly. A pleasant sigh lightly left her throat when she felt him graze continuously over her nipple.

"You'll get used to it," he finished, and slowly she fell asleep, crying quietly onto her pillow.

~oOo~

She laid in bed in absolute pain, her body feeling as if she had been dipped in boiling water.

While her complexion looked flawless, she felt blistered and disfigured. She was alone in the bedroom, and could hear the television on in the background. All that covered her body was an oversized tee shirt, and even the cotton lightly touching her skin was excruciating. The dim lights in the room burned at her retinas.

"Next on Channel 9 news, more on the story regarding the horrific escape of the Joker from Arkham Asylum and his hostage Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

Though she heard the news anchor's words, she didn't even bother to lift herself to gaze at the screen. She could only close her eyes and sigh. And here she pondered on what was to become of her, exactly what life she had entered into. She could never go back. And if she did, she couldn't go back to the life she had. Her career was over. Her past was done. Her future was the Joker now, and whatever plans he had in store for her.

Oh how things would have been different, she thought weakly, if only he had been assigned another doctor. And oh how love had made her do crazy things. Absolutely batshit crazy things...

A/N: Thanks for reading and the nice reviews! :) There will be no more flashbacks moving forward FYI.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Harley, get up."

She ignored him as she laid in bed, belly down, her eyes closed yet very alert at his words. She felt his weight take a seat next to her, then curled her toes when his hand smoothed over the back of her naked thigh up towards her derriere.

"You've been moping around all week. And you're starting to get skinny and losing your ass. How am I supposed to fuck you if ya ain't got no ass?"

"Easy," she spoke against her pillow, the sound coming out muffled. "You fuck yourself."

She knew he would be pissed at her remark, and this was confirmed when he grabbed her waist harshly and turned her around to face him, throwing her down onto the bed.

Her lips curving downwards, she pouted at him.

"You've got a mouth on you lately. I don't like it," he warned her. He was fully dressed, in a white shirt and blazer, pestiferously buttoned down to his navel, gold dangling from his neck and wrists and decorating his fingers. He reeked of expensive cologne. His hair was slicked back neatly, his lips a dark crimson. As he placed a hand underneath the fabric of her short nightgown, she shuddered from the simultaneous warmth of his skin and the coldness of his rings touching her flesh.

"What do you want," she muttered, feeling him graze over her stomach until he reached her breast.

"I want you to get up," he scowled.

"It's midnight, I'm going to bed." Her breathing quickened a bit when he began to manipulate her nipple.

"You've been in bed all day and all fucking week," he snapped back at her, and with a painful squeeze of her nipple, she flinched, as he stood and adjusted his collar.

"Now get up, we're going out."

Harley hugged at her chest defensively.

"Where we going? You gona have me kill another lady?"

"We're gona get you a fucking steak and then we're going to the club."

"I don't wana go out. But you can bring me the steak though."

Narrowing his gaze at her, J leaned against the bed, their eyes locking. "Get up, Harley. I ain't fucking around."

"I don't know. I kind of want to fuck now."

His face twisted in what seemed to be a look of confusion and arousal. "You just told me to fuck myself."

She only shrugged, now rubbing her knees together. Cocking his head to the side, he let out a heavy, aggravated sigh.

"I ain't fucking you, Frost is in the other room."

"We got a lock don't we?"

" _Harley_."

Rolling her eyes at him, she reached at her hip bones and carefully rolled her underwear down past her legs. With a smile, she placed it securely in his palms.

"Do me a favor and throw these in the wash would ya?"

Looking down at the article of clothing, he could feel the wetness from the fabric stain his fingers. Somehow she could see his chest sink.

"I ain't fucking ya," he repeated himself, tossing her briefs onto the floor. She frowned, crossing her knees.

"Then I ain't going no where."

She saw his fists clench as he rose and looked down at her with a forward scowl. "Why are you being so difficult?"

"Because I'm still upset!"

Her reply emerged more passionately than either of them had anticipated. Hugging her knees towards her chest, a cloudiness fogged her eyes as she held back tears.

"You need to get over it," he cautioned her lowly, lacking any remorse in his voice. He sat next to her again, his shoulder brushing against hers.

"I don't wana go back," she complained, refusing to look at him. "You'll make me do coke again."

"No, I won't."

"You'll make me kill someone."

"No, I won't."

"You'll kill someone."

He didn't answer that one. "Harley, just get up."

She hesitated. "You always keep me in here anyway why you want me to go out with ya so bad?"

"Because I'm tired of you sulking around like a God damn baby." Rising from the bed, he took her arm and pulled her up. "Now get dressed."

She sighed in annoyance, removing her nightgown in front of him, allowing him to watch her naked form march straight towards the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

~oOo~

"You know this phone you got me ain't got no internet."

She sat besides him on the couch, her legs crossed and head rested obnoxiously on his shoulder. She could feel him tense beneath her, but acted serene, gripping a gold studded cane in both hands.

Even in their barricade of beaded curtains, the multitude of lights from the club hit their complexions and flashed against the screen of her phone as she held it in her hands, frowning at the lack of connection it had.

"It ain't got no internet because I ain't put no internet," he retorted crossly at her. She could barely hear him through the music playing, but frowned at his answer.

"You're really controlling, you know that?" She hoped he couldn't hear her, but felt him flinch.

His neck snapped at her, forcing her head to lift from his shoulder. "Watch it, Harley. Just because you killed someone doesn't mean you can say whatever the fuck you want."

"I'm still pissed."

"Well then get un-fucking-pissed. Have a fucking drink."

"What about you? You ain't drinking."

Suddenly Joker looked at the three men who sat before him smoking cigars.

"Hunter, bring the strongest liquor you can find."

Running a hand through his light brow hair, the handsome young man nodded. "Sure thing, boss."

"I want a martini!" Harley shot out, but was met with a rough hand to her knee. "Shut up, Harley."

A peculiar wave of silence took over the booth, and Harley watched Frost and Drake sit back against their seats, cigar smoke encircling their forms.

Placing the phone down besides her, Harley leaned forward against her thighs, resting a cheek on her palms.

"So, Fellas, did Mistah J tell y'all I beat the shit out of him last week?"

They didn't respond to her remark, but lay motionless. However she could feel the amusement trapped within then, but they dared not respond.

"You're gona get it, Harley," Joker muttered, a little too calmly.

He seemed relived when Hunter emerged cradling several shot glasses and a bottle of clear liquor, placing them on the glass table before them.

"Boss, this stuff is Greek. It's called Ouzo. You can drink it straight or mix it with water."

Harley didn't hesitate to immediately pour the liquid into a glass and observed it for a moment before downing it into her throat. It looked like water but tasted like fiery licorice. She erupted into a coughing fit as it hit her esophagus, throwing herself back against her seat, her face contorting into pure disgust.

"I told you before, Harley, you have to make sure you don't taste it."

Her eyes still shut, she recognized Frost's voice, and pursed her lips together. As she opened her eyes, she looked over at J who seemed amused by her reaction, continuing to watch her as she poured another shot and gulped it down. This time she didn't cough, but scrunched her face as if she had sucked on a lemon.

"Want some water with that?" he asked her, cocking his head to the side and smiled.

"No," she hissed back, pouring another shot and handing it to him this time. "But this one's for you."

He accepted it emotionlessly, drinking it easily as if it were water, and handed it back to her.

Her intoxication had begun to build inside her, but she tried her hardest to conceal it, taking in deep breaths, blinking repeatedly to sharpen her vision. Warmth filled her abdomen, and a desire to giggle had taken over her.

With a shaky hand, she poured another shot, spilling onto the table, messily bringing the glass to her lips as she downed the drink, this time her tongue immune to the harsh taste. Her nostrils flared as she slammed the cup onto the table, and no longer was she able to control her fit of giggles.

It came out as a snort from her nose, and evolved into deep throaty laughs. It may have been the first time she genuinely smiled that entire week, despite her drunkenness. As she reached to pour another shot, J grabbed her wrist, giving her a stern look, his fingers digging harshly into her flesh.

"I think that's enough for now," he told her, his brow bones furrowing.

"Just one more, Puddin." She pouted at him, her red lipstick now smeared past her lips. His face was inches from hers and from there he could notice the detail of her makeup, the thick darkness of her lashes and how they curled beautifully front her eyes. The gold that decorated her lids glittered under the lights, while her cheekbones contained a luminous captivating highlight that looked like glass on her cheeks. She wore the dress she loved, the tight red one with the swarovski crystals and matching spiked heels. And she looked absolutely stunning in it.

He seemed transfixed in her beauty for a moment, letting go of her wrist, and didn't refuse when she kissed him briskly. He could taste and smell the licorice in her hot mouth.

And through the haziness and instability, despite the fire that was forming in her belly and the fogginess in her head, she could see it now, that he was turned on, and he watched with ravenous eyes as she sloppily poured another shot for herself and drank it, laughing while the glass was at her lips.

Droplets of the clear liquid dribbled down her chin, and when she laughed some of it spurted out her nose, causing her to erupt in another episode of high-pitched giggles.

Her laughter was contagious, especially to him beside her, causing a wide grin to pull at his mouth. And they laughed merrily together, as lunatic lovers, but the laughter had ended tragically abruptly.

"And here he is, the Jester of Genocide."

Immediately and in perfect unison, Hunter, Drake, and Frost stood, dropping their cigars and pulling out their hand guns, pointing them directly at the new figure before them. Harley suddenly didn't feel so drunk anymore, gulping as her throat became dry and sweat began to crease at her forehead. Sinking in her seat, she hoped she would somehow disappear.

The man who had entered their private booth seemed rather collected although he had three different guns pointed at him. His English was clean, with a slight Mediterranean accent. He was a tall and lean man, with a tanned olive complexion, black hair slicked back with heavy gel, and dressed in a crisp black blazer and pants. There was a dangerous handsomeness about him that reminded her of the Joker.

J chuckled gleefully however, motioning to his men with his cane to lower their weapons. With steady eyes, the three of them carefully sat back down.

"Look who came to join us, fellas. The infamous Giovanni Romano. How the fuck did security let you in?"

"I have my ways." Giovanni walked in as if he and J were long time pals, but as he approached an empty seat, the Joker smiled at him with a deadly glare.

"No, you're sitting with the boys, Romano. Right between Frost and Drake over there."

The men obliged, making room for the Italian as he approached their sofa, and he sat with them. They eyed him carefully, palms grazing their guns in preparation. Drake picked up his cigar and resumed smoking, blowing the fog straight into Giovanni's face.

"Fellas, why so anxious? Relax. I'm sure Romano has no bad intentions, don't ya G?"

The smile had left Joker's face, as he leaned his torso forward, supporting his weight on his cane. A very grave, somber expression etched onto his face.

Heavily Harley breathed now, wishing to God she hadn't downed all those shots. She tried not to move, not to fidget, not to bring any attention to herself. Her body stiffened as she felt the bitter tension devouring the room.

"It depends what you mean by bad intentions, J," Giovanni smirked, sitting back comfortably while resting his elbows against the top of the couch. "You see, you killed my cousin's wife. We had a good thing going, you and I, and you kind of fucked it up."

"Your weasel cousin fucked me over, if you recall," the Joker shot back, placing his chin onto his knuckles.

"See Joker, the difference between your clown posse and Italian mobsters, we lookout for our own. I know you'd give up one of yours in a heartbeat. Your loyalty is as good as a bag of rocks. But with us, it's not so simple. You got a whole lot of people on my turf mad at ya, J. And that's not a good thing. Not a good thing at all."

The Joker smiled however, and easily the smile evolved into a grin. "Romano, I got plenty of people mad at me. Plenty who want to kill me. I got a Bat chasing me for 20 years. I'm not worried about the mafia right now."

Harley found Giovanni's calmness chilling. He seemed to terrify her more than the Joker in a certain way. He didn't seem insane or unable to control his anger. No, he was smooth, collected, unafraid.

"You should be worried about the mafia, Joker," he retorted serenely. "You should be very worried. Because we like to get even. And when someone's got a hit out on you, it means business. We ain't running around in Bat suits playing tag. We mean fucking business."

"So, Romano, are you here to warn me or to threaten me?"

"A little bit of both. I personally'd like to keep ya around. But my family, and Angelo, not so much."

And it finally happened, the moment she had been dreading. His brown eyes found hers and he smiled.

"This your new goomah, J?"

She felt the Joker tense up beside her, as his face darkened into a scowl.

Giovanni looked her up and down, glossing his tongue over her lips. "A real looker, ain't she? More gorgeous than Alexandra."

She felt him boiling now, his raging energy beginning to radiate. And the fear inside her, clawing at her chest, causing her lips to part and her heart beat to accelerate.

"You need to leave right now," J spat out.

As if he were surrendering, Giovanni extended his palms, a raise to his thick black brows. "Just trying to help a colleague out. Giving you a heads up on what to expect." He glared at Harley once more. "And who you need to protect."

Gracefully he stood, pressing on the wrinkles of his pants, and nodded his heads towards the Joker.

"Always a pleasure, J. Fellas. Miss."

Even when he left, his presence still lingered in the room, and Harley still could not catch her breath.

"Frost, Drake, Hunter," J spoke lowly after a moment of silence, staring at his men with deep, irate eyes, the blue of his irises almost appearing black.

"Follow him, and kill him."

They didn't jump up at his command however, a look of unease consuming their faces.

"Boss, I'd have to advise against this one," Frost spoke up, rubbing at the hair on his chin. "I don't think we want to create more trouble with this group than we already have."

"Trouble?" the Joker bellowed with a harsh laugh, slamming his cane onto the ground. "Trouble? I don't care if I have to kill every single person in that family. Angelo is a fucking nark and a crook. He ripped me off out of fucking millions and set me up to get caught by the Bat. I will not stop until I have completely fucking destroyed him. I have a fucking reputation to uphold, and this bitch ass snitch is not going to intimidate me with his old school crime. They want to threaten me, go right ahead. But I will fuck them up before they even have the chance to try."

Heaving a deep sigh, he spoke again. "Now follow him, and fucking get rid of him."

Still, they hesitated.

Chuckling madly, the Joker stood briskly. "I can't believe the bitches I have working for me. I'll take care of this myself."

As Harley watched him walk away, an instant panic took over her. "Jonny, give me ya gun."

He gave her a peculiar look. "Are you fucking crazy? You're drunk Harley, just relax."

"He is going to get himself killed. Give me ya gun!"

Leaning over the table, she knocked over the bottle of ouzo and glasses surrounding her, her dress drenched as she reached towards Jonny's gun holster.

He struggled with her until she climbed on him and kneed him in the chest, the strike stunning him long enough for her to grab the gun and march out of their booth.

"Holy fucking shit," Hunter muttered, his mouth falling agape. "Did she just do that?"

"Hunter, shut your fucking mouth and get the fuck up. Boss will kill us if anything happens to Harley."

"God, you know those Italian fuckers are gona off us one by one now, right?" Drake said as the three of them stood and headed towards the back exit.

Harley had found them just in the climax of a heated argument. Both men yelling down the other's face, as J spoke dramatically with arm gestures, Giovanni pulling at his own hair.

She found them outside of the back of the building, the only source of light gracing them from the moon and stars.

When she saw J reach into his holster to pull out his gun, Giovanni was too quick, and with a fearsome swift grace he had pulled out his gun and placed it at the center of Joker's forehead. She saw her lover laugh, as he always seemed to do in the face of death.

She could hear the yelling but couldn't hear what they were saying. But when she saw Joker make another attempt to pull out his gun and Giovanni massaging his finger over the trigger, she lost her mind, her sense of control, a raging violent panic consuming her, that she lifted the gun and shot it, the bullet going straight into Giovanni's chest.

His eyes widened, a sharp, throaty gasp leaving his throat. She saw him fall over and drop his gun, blood staining the white shirt underneath his blazer, as he clutched at his chest while landing harshly onto the black gravel.

Immediately, J pulled out his gun and turned around to face her, the two of them now pointing their weapons at each other.

His shoulders relaxed upon seeing her. "Oh fucking A, Harley," he barked, throwing his arms down. "If you're gona shoot, at least fucking shoot to kill!" He looked down at the man gasping for air, moaning in pain. "Now I gotta finish him off."

Almost joyfully, Joker walked towards him, kneeling down handsomely before Giovanni. Harley stumbled against the gravel in her heeled shoes as she advanced towards them, standing behind J as she continued to hold the gun with trembling fists. The sound of heavy footsteps running towards her did not seem to phase her, as if she could not feel or hear the clamor. She was immediately grabbed and held by the three henchman, Jonny making it a point to pry his gun from her grasp. Lifelessly she stood there, staring down at the scene before her, that she didn't even try to fight them off her.

J slowly brought the gun to Giovanni's sweat glazed forehead. He was still gasping for breath, his body shaking on the ground.

"Sorry Romano, didn't mean to start a war with ya mob. But when someone fucks me over, I fuck them over. That's how it works with _my_ mob."

"Don't do this, J," he managed to speak against his wound. "They've already got a hit out on your girl."

"That's okay," the Joker smirked, pressing the gun deeper into his skin. "Because I got a hit out on all of you."

And the sound of the gun firing came quickly, echoing into the bleakness of the night, a ringing taking over Harley's ears. And then a deadly, serene silence came. She felt herself crumble, and there the men made extra attempts to support her weak body.

"Harley, are you okay?" Frost asked, shaking her shoulders. She tensed up however, any hint of color in her skin draining. And as the Joker rose slowly from the corpse, he wiped the dust off his jacket, placing his gun back in his holster. There was blood splattered onto his blazer.

He looked at Harley and their gazes intertwined. And there for the first time she could see a hint of fear in him. And to see him afraid made her even more petrified.

"They're going to kill me," she spoke silently, as tears began to sting at her eyes. Hysteria taking over her, she freed herself from the henchmen's grasps, shoving them off her as she ran to J and threw herself at him.

"J they are going to fucking kill me!" She grabbed his face and forced him to look down at her. She was crying now, tears falling down her cheeks in a long, tedious flow, her body rigid while a tremor struck her knees.

"They ain't gona kill ya," he promised her, grazing a thumb against her cheek. "Because I'm gona make you unkillable."

As she pulled herself away from him, she fell to her knees, grasping at her hair, and shaking her head frantically.

"Ain't none of us here unkillable, Mistah J!" she shrieked. "You messed with the wrong fucking people!"

"Honey, I messed with a lot crazier freaks than these old school gangsters," he shot back at her, grabbing her elbow and forcing her up. "Now you listen to me and believe me when I say nobody is going to touch you. Not under my eye."

"Boss," Frost spoke up, pointing at Giovanni's lifeless form. "What are we supposed to do with the body?"

"I don't know, be creative! Just get it the hell away from my club!"

Drake looked at Hunter. "You got the gloves?"

"Oh just shut up," Frost muttered, pulling white latex gloves from the inside of his blazer.

She didn't watch as the men handled the body, but looked the Joker in the eye, her heart beating so ferociously that it physically hurt her chest.

"Mistah J, I'm scared," she whispered.

"Soon they'll all be scared of you, baby," he replied, and a grin captured his lips as his palm petted her cheek. "Now you're gona come with me. There's something we have to do."

He took her hand and led her back into the club, as they left through the front entrance. It almost felt like a hazy dream as they moved past the swarm of clients, the go-go dancers on tables as dim multi-colored lights hit them. She could still feel the alcohol warming her belly and now giving her a massive headache.

"Mistah J, where you taking me?"

He didn't look at her when he answered. "To get ya branded."

~oOo~

As they stood alone in the back entrance of a tattoo parlor at three in the morning, Harley couldn't help but think this would have been a perfect opportunity for the mob to make their hit on her.

With one hand the Joker held his phone against his ear, with the other he securely held onto Harley's hand. It didn't make her feel at ease, however, as a horrible sense of nausea poured into her chest.

"Mistah J, I don't know what the fuck we are doing here, but I want to go home now,"she found herself saying in a whisper.

He ignored her plea however, as she could hear the faint sound of his phone ringing.

"Mike, it's me, J. We're in the back. I need some work done."

It was a matter of seconds before the door burst open and Harley found herself looking at a handsome man covered in tattoos. He was black with a medium complexion in a wife beater shirt, his arms slender yet toned and covered in black tattoos, none of them in color. His hair was in a short buzz cut.

He looked at the the Joker and then he looked at Harley. Then, a grin swept his lips. "J, long time no see." He didn't make a move to hug him or show any sign of a friendly greeting, but instead cocked his head up in some sort of familiar respect. J nodded towards him, squeezing Harley's hand more firmly.

"I heard you busted out of Arkham like a month ago," he continued, leading them inside. "You guys wrecked the entire place. That's insane, man."

"It's what we do best," J boasted, to which Harley frowned.

"I busted him out," she found herself blurting out. Mike had been apprehensive of showing any sort of attention to Harley, but glanced at her now with intrigue, bringing them into his parlor and switching on the lights.

The place was absolutely empty and looked like the type of establishment that would reuse needles. Harley frowned as she stared at the multitude of bizarre artwork on the walls, while they stood on checker patterned tile.

"Is this your new girl, J?" Mike found himself taking a closer look at her, squinting his brown eyes until they widened in sudden realization. He had taken a wet rag and began to wipe down a seat next to his station.

"Get the fuck out, that's the doctor you kidnapped from Arkham." He chuckled to himself, while putting on white latex gloves. The site of it led her mind back to the scene at the club, and she felt sick to her stomach.

"I'm his girlfriend now," she spoke coarsely, taking J's arm and holding it securely. "And the name's Harley Quinn."

"Well, I'm very pleased to meet you Harley Quinn." He flashed a look at J. "So what you getting done tonight?"

Roughly, he jerked his arm away from Harley, then pushing her towards Mike.

"Not me tonight. You're gona work on her."

Nervously, she sat on the black seat. It looked like a massage chair, and as she leaned back she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You better not make me get any stupid ass tattoos. Like the one on your hand."

The look on his face promised a beating soon to come, but Mike laughed beside them as he prepared the ink at his station. She exhaled in relief she she saw him unpackage new needles.

"The smile? That's my favorite one. It's fucking dope."

"It's stupid," Harley muttered. "And you can glare at me all ya want, Mistah J. I'm gona fucking die anyway."

"A newly freed man and already you got yourself into trouble?" Mike observed, continuing to assemble the black ink.

"Oh you know, the usual sort of mayhem," J retorted, leaning himself against a vacant station. "Got into a war with the mob. Now they got a hit out on Harley."

Mike laughed. "Can't be as bad as when the Penguin had a hit on you, can it?"

J grinned, placing his hands into the pockets of his pants. "Definitely not as exciting."

Harley sat in disbelief, her lips parting, eyes glittering. How could anyone be so casual about this?

"So what are we going to do for the young lady today?" Mike beamed, rolling his chair over to her.

Harley shrugged, giving the Joker a dirty look. "I don't know. Ask him."

"Is this your first tattoo?" he asked her.

"Yes."

He looked at J. "What are we doing with her?"

"Put a fucking tear by her eye or something."

She gasped, making the motion to lift herself from the seat. "No way, Mistah J! No way in hell is that happening!"

"Well you earned it, didn't ya?"

"No! I don't want nothing on my face!"

"Well too fucking bad. If you want crooks taking ya seriously, you need to have your face tattooed. Its the first thing they see and the first they'll remember."

"Why don't we do like a heart instead of a tear?" Mike interjected, gently taking her chin to observe her face.

"What do you think about that, Harley?"

She frowned. "No."

Joker sighed. "Put the fucking heart on her."

She heard the buzzing of the needle ring and she began to panic. "No! You better not fucking do it!"

At her attempt to rise, Joker pressed on her shoulders from behind, forcing her to sit as he grabbed her jaw and held it firmly for Mike. Sloppily, he rubbed some ointment on her cheek, lifting the trembling tattoo gun towards her face.

When she felt the needle dig into her right cheek bone, she groaned. It felt like millions of bee stings per second, though the full extent of the pain came when he began to fill in the heart, in which she shut her eyes and moaned painfully. It was quick, however, and she let out an exasperated sigh when he finished and heard the buzzing cease.

"Can you put some words too or do you have to stencil that shit out?"

"I think I can freehand it."

Harley jerked to get up, but Joker pushed her back down.

"What are ya thinking, doll face? What's a good word for you? Something that let's everyone know you're a bad ass bitch but still absolutely adorable."

She frowned. "Piss off."

He chuckled, however, patting her shoulders as he pressed his mouth against her ear, his breath warming the nape of her neck. "What do you think, Mike? Got any ideas?" She grunted when he grabbed her jaw again, holding her securely.

"Here, I got a good one."

When she heard the humming of the needle begin once more, she closed her eyes, groaning as she felt the pinching sensation against the right side of her jawline. This one took longer, was even more painful as it hit against her bone and flesh. Even when the noise and pain ended, she didn't feel relieved, but instead stood, no longer held down onto the chair, and found her way to the full sized mirror.

She saw the single black heart in her reflection, on her cheekbone right underneath her eye, and below it she saw the word Rotten written cleanly in capital Roman lettering.

She tensed up as the Joker, came up from behind her, taking both her hands in his, joining her gaze in the mirror.

"Now look at you, don't you look tough?"

A blithering sigh heaved from her nostrils. She was terrified, she was upset, she was utterly confused.

But most of all, she was fucking pissed. And as she felt J pressed his mouth on her neck and smile against her skin, she felt the rage boil within her, just as it had that night when she wanted to kill the both of them.

She felt the rage and accepted it, let it become a part of her. And she looked at her reflection and at the tattoo that left the surrounding skin red. She glared at her altered face and smiled, one of lunacy and disturbance. One of sadness and trepidation.

She smiled for no other reason than that she was going to fuck up somebody out there, somewhere. Whether it would be J, the mob, anybody who would cross her.

Grasping the collar of his shirt, she pulled him down to her level, her eyes burning into his, her lips grazing against his mouth.

"Take me home. Right now."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The moment they entered back into the apartment, she was immediately stunned by a harsh slap at the side of her face.

The pain was intensified as he hit her freshly tattooed spot, the bandages on her cheek unable to cushion the impact. Wincing in pain, she stumbled backwards, unable to find balance in her heeled shoes. However, before she could fall, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him, his fingers pinching her skin, turning her flesh red.

"What the fuck was that for?" she screamed after a moment, waiting for the spots of black in her vision to fade.

"For your fucking attitude the entire night," he scoffed, then pushed her away from him. Her back hit the wall, and again for a moment she remained there, speechless, a spot of blood dribbling from her lip as one of his rings chipped at her mouth.

As she heard him walk into the bedroom, she furrowed her brows, adjusting her dress and removing her shoes, holding one in each hand by the heel as she marched after him.

"You fucking prick!" she yelled, entering the room and throwing one of her heels at him. Dodging her catapult, he began to unbutton his blazer, heaving heavily through his nostrils.

"You're really fucking asking for it tonight, Harley," he spoke lowly.

At this point, she couldn't fathom the words that were coming out of his mouth, could not comprehend his attitude and actions about the situation he had put her in. While her mouth fell agape and back hunched, she gawked at him while he continued to undress with such ease and serenity, removing his blazer and then his shirt, unzipping his pants. Almost like a normal person. But she knew he was anything but normal.

She shook her head, in disbelief, feeling her heartbeat accelerate, hammering against her chest, a painful dryness forming in her mouth. The tattoos beneath her bandage began to pulsate in pain, the skin raising in anguish. As he ignored her, she sat at the edge of the bed, holding her remaining shoe, while looking at the carpet with trembling eyes.

"They're going to kill me and you don't give a shit."

Though she was not looking at him, she felt his gaze lock on her, felt his energy move through her.

"They're not gona kill you," he retorted too calmly.

"And how's that? Because you're gona make me fucking unkillable?" she spat out, snapping her head to look at him. He had changed into sweatpants and remained shirtless. She could see specks of Giovanni's blood splattered on his face. "How do you fucking propose we do that?"

"How many time do I fucking have to tell you, Harley?" he scowled, rummaging through several drawers until he pulled out a bottle of vodka. She watched with furrowed brows as he opened it and drunk from the vial, only slightly squinting his eyes as the liquid grazed his mouth.

"I didn't bring you here to make you my wife," he continued, drinking again, this time shuddering. "I'm turning you into a fucking gangster."

"Well, you keep talking the talk but all that has happened is a lot of fucking, me killing an innocent lady, more fucking, me getting a hit on me by the mafia, more fucking, getting my face tattooed to look like a ghetto freak, and getting a phone with no fucking internet on it!" She has been counting on her fingers as her face contorted in sarcasm. She looked at him, head tilted towards her shoulders.

"You're really ungrateful, you know that?"

She chuckled and watched him take another chug, his forehead beginning to perspire. Throwing her shoe down, she stood, going up to him and grabbing the bottle from his hand. Looking him directly in his eyes, she took a swift drink from it, controlling her coughing fit as she slammed the glass down onto the dresser.

"I'm ungrateful?" she said, feeling her mouth salivate and drip down her lips. "I'm kidnapped!"

He rolled his eyes at her however, and she smacked his hand when he attempted to take the vodka once more.

"Baby, you ain't kidnapped. You're here on your own free will."

Throwing her hands in the air, she laughed. "Then, I'm leaving! I'm turning myself in! See ya in hell!"

She made the motion to leave, but he grabbed her arm and forced her against him. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, burning her skin as it hit her neck.

"Do you like making me angry?" he hissed, his eyes seeming to grow darker. "Do you know how much I hate ruining that pretty face of yours?"

"Hit me," she taunted him, heavy breaths fleeing her nostrils. "It can't be worse than whatever's gona happen to me."

"So many crooks in Gotham, people with super human abilities, people who have the power to destroy the world-all mad at me. And here you are, worried about the fucking mafia."

As he pushed her away from him, he chuckled deeply, and took another drink. "You're a fucking idiot, Harley. I _am_ the fucking mafia. I'm the biggest fucking shark in the entire city. I have control over many more things than you can even begin to comprehend. I have very important people working for me. I have more influence than these nobodies could even possibly dream of. So don't you worry you're pretty little dumb head about getting killed."

She narrowed her eyes at him, however, crossing her arms against her chest as her weight shifted to one hip. "You think you're tough but I saw the look in your eyes tonight. You were fucking scared. You know they mean business and you know they will fucking deliver."

Tilting her head, she squinted her eyes at him as his gaze wander from her, a deep sigh escaping his mouth.

"You know what, Mistah J?" she began again, beginning to pace the room. "I actually admire the mafia. They got class, ya know? They keep their business personal, under wraps. They do jobs and they don't got Batman following them. Oh, but you-" She cut herself off, shaking her head feverishly as she turned to face him.

"You got to make every fucking thing you do a big theatrical production!" She raised her arms, shaking her hands like a jazz performer to mock him. "You pull a job, _everybody's_ gotta know you're there. You got your ridiculous outfits and bright ass hair-got your men parading behind ya with machine guns in a fucking chorus line. No wonder Batman has gotten you so many times! You ain't nothing like the mafia! You're a flamboyant dick with ya fucking sparkly ass cane and ya jewelry, and ya dumb ass purple car so that when we're out _everybody's_ gotta know it's you racing through the streets!"

She was laughing now, leaning against the bed for support as she clutched at her chest. "You should be taking classes from the mafia!"

Her laughter had turned into hysteria, as she found herself sliding onto the floor, tears leaving her eyes. She wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying anymore, but the sound and tears had mixed into one and wouldn't end. Even when he grabbed her and lifted her up, his palm grasping harshly at her neck, giggles still remained muffled in her throat, her eyes still wet as excess tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Funny you still know words like flamboyant," he spoke meekly, squeezing her neck a little tighter. She fought to maintain her breath, but did not struggle from his hold on her. Instead she maintained her gaze on him, their eyes captured in their own solemn war.

"Hard to forget something I see everyday," she choked out.

"I'm not liking your attitude, Harley. You're really beginning to get on my nerves."

She gasped for breath the moment he left go of her, yet he instantaneously slammed the back of his hand against her clean cheek, his rings indenting into her skin. She moaned at the impact and he hit her again, harder this time. Before she could react, he grabbed her waist and pushed her down onto the bed, leaning over her as he pressed his torso against hers.

His mouth was inches away from hers, while her face pulsated in horrible pain.

"Do you like it when I hit you?" he whispered, grabbing at the end of her dress.

"No!" she barked, trying to push her off of him, yet his weight on her was too stiff. "I hate it! And I hate you!"

He smiled at her. "I thought you loved me."

"I thought _you_ loved _me_."

"Oh babe, I think you learned by now I don't love anybody."

"You loved your wife and unborn kid."

She saw a rage in him ignite, that the smile on his mouth instantly vanished. She could feel his body tense, a fierce heat overtake him. And with that raw horrid passion he picked her up, throwing her onto the ground, but only to lift her back up half way and strike her face, this time underneath her chin, cutting the center of her bottom lip, and again did he pummel the side of her face repeatedly, bruises immediately swelling on her cheek, blood drizzling over her mouth. He was lost in his frenzy, ignoring her groans, her tears drenching his hand. Until finally he let go of her, allowing her to hit the floor, her face bruised and bloodied as she laid there in her own comfort and cried silently.

And as he cooled down, his gaze towards her softened. He sat with her on the floor, cradling her in his arms as he lifted her weak body, wiping the blood from her mouth.

"I know you're still upset about the lady you killed," he tried to console her, running his knuckles over her fresh tears as they fell.

"I know you're scared. But you have to believe me when I say nobody is going to kill you."

"How can I trust you to protect me when you keep hurting me?" she asked quietly, her voice cracking as she sobbed.

"You have to stop fighting me. You have to accept who you are now and what this is. You have to understand that I'm keeping you alive because there is great potential in you and I'm gona unlock it."

Holding her face in his palms, he pressed his nose against hers. It was comforting yet threatening at once.

"But you have to stop fighting me."

Her breaths were loud, filling the silence of the room, while she sobbed against his embrace.

"Do you understand?" he whispered, and after a moment, she nodded.

Gently, he pressed her face against his chest, taking her in his arms and petting the back of her head. "That's my girl," he beamed softly.

As his hands slid against her shoulders, he moved her to kiss her swollen mouth, and she recoiled in pain at the contact. Yet he opened his mouth wider and she allowed him inside, allowed his tongue to his massage against her own, allowed her blood to stain his skin as he kissed her and strategically placed her down lightly onto the carpet.

She did not entice him, nor reject him, but allowed him to do to her as he pleased, kissing down her neck to her collar bone, leaving a warm, wet trail on her flesh. He lifted her dress over her hips, bending her knees as he pulled down her thong. And when she felt him grapple her knees and kiss her groin, she arched her back, clenching her jaw as her nails dug into the carpet.

As his mouth moved from her groin to the wet center of her body, she elongated her neck, a moan stiffed in her throat, trying to closed her knees together but he held them apart, gliding his tongue over the most sensitive and responsive part of her body, sending her almost to an instant orgasm. And she felt him smooth his palms over her thighs, further opening her legs, sucking on her small delicate mound of flesh, until all the pain she felt went away, dissipated until it became pleasure, a powerful pleasure that engulfed her entire body. No longer could she keep her sounds of satisfaction suppressed, deep penetrating moans rumbling as they left her mouth, pouring from her lips.

She lost herself in her beautiful spasm, lost sight of what she had agreed to, of what was to become of her.

She could only focus on the good he made her feel, and how it always seemed to overpower the bad.

And the good was so so so gloriously good.

~oOo~

Harley was not ready for such an eventful day. She would have never imagined herself inside this bank, holding a machine gun and surrounded by J's henchmen.

It started when he delivered her new clothes in the early afternoon. She was particularly excited about the high heeled boots she was promised and squealed in delight when she found them. They were even cuter in person than in the sketch he had shown her.

They sat in the kitchen with her, Frost accompanying J, watching her as she shoved her feet hurriedly into the heeled sneakers, merrily admiring them, crossing her legs. J was beginning to get impatient however, giving her his usual cold stare.

"Get in the room and get dressed," he ordered her.

There were no snarky remarks from her, but instead she nodded, taking her clothes and going straight for the bedroom.

"And do something with ya hair, get it away from your face," she heard him bellow as she closed the door behind her.

Placing each article on the bed, she rubbed at her bruised jawline and she observed each piece with interest. They had brought her fishnet stockings and briefs, a shirt, and a jacket, all mix-matched blue and red. She noticed a gold studded belt, the shimmer grabbing at her eyes.

As she undressed, she forced herself into the tight stockings, stumbling around the room as she struggled to apply them. She easily slid the shorts past her thighs, and frowned when she noticed half of her derriere was exposed. Pushing the briefs down a bit, she applied the belt over her hip bones, hoping to ease the problem.

A soft sigh fled her lips as she picked up the shirt. It was white with red sleeves, and in playful font read Daddy's Lil Monster. It fit her body snugly as she put it on, emphasizing the curve of her waist. Finally she arrived at the jacket, which she recalled quite well. It was satin and read Property of Joker. He made sure everyone who saw her would know who she belonged to. As she had blurted out the previous night, he was vastly unsubtle in his crime.

She went into the bathroom to look at her reflection, noticing her busted lip and bruised face. The area that surrounded her raw tattoos was red and the ink appeared as if it were stitched onto her skin. At the painful dryness, she applied lotion for relief. sighing as she reached for her makeup bag and pulled out a berry red liquid lipstick and a colorful eye shadow palette. Quickly and sloppily she did her makeup, applying the color over her lips, and matching her eyelids with her outfit as she painted one red and blue. She jerked while applying mascara, poking herself in the eye as she heard the Joker bellow her name, rushing herself now as she grabbed two scrunchies and hastily pulled her hair into two tight pig tails.

Grabbing her shoes, she quickly left the room and reentered the kitchen, leaning against the wall while sliding her feet into the boots once more, then awkwardly posing before the two men.

"Ta da!" she exclaimed, extending her arm and shifting her weight to show off as many curves as she could. "Whaddya think boys?"

J approached her in such an unreadable manner she wasn't sure if he was going to hug her or smack her.

Instead he observed her from from head to toe, sliding his hand underneath her skirt and grazing his palm over her waist. He had gotten close enough to where she could smell his heavy cologne, the scent tingling her nostrils.

"You look like a hot mess," he finally replied, a grin curving his dark lips. "I love it."

He quickly turned around, removing his hand from her skin. "What do you think, Frost? She looks ready for a job?"

Jonny stood there obediently, hands folded against each other, dressed in a usual black suit and clean beard.

"She looks great, Boss."

However, the same bewildered look that instantly seized Harley's face had taken his. And the two of them asked in unison, "What job?"

The Joker laughed however, taking Harley's hand as he led her to the table, extending a chair for her to sit.

"Today's your lucky day, Harley," he spoke with an odd sense of pride. "Today you are going to rob Gotham City Bank."

Both Jonny and Harley looked at him, jaws dropping, gazing at him like the madman he was.

"What?" she explained, lifting herself up from the chair. "Puddin, it's two in the afternoon, in broad day light!"

"Boss, I thought we were passed robbing banks," Jonny interjected, scratching at the side of his head.

" _I'm_ passed robbin' banks, but Harley ain't," he explained, then pushed her back down onto her seat.

"Harley, this will be your first solo job, in front of the whole city as Harley Quinn."

"Solo? I'm going alone?" The fret in her voice became obvious, as her knees began to shake. "I'm gona go in there by myself and rob the bank and leave there alive?"

"Of course not, I'll send Frost and the boys with you. It will be your own theatrical production." Cleverly and with malice, he winked at her. She gulped.

"But, but...what if Batman finds me?"

"Babe, you ever see the Bat come out during the day? He's too busy doing his bat day job." He kneeled towards her now, taking her hands in his, feeling the warmth of her skin combat the coldness of his own.

"This is perfect timing. Its busy, there's day light. People will see you and know who you are. It's the perfect grand entrance for you.''

"I got a hit out on me!" she exclaimed, removing her hands from his. "Ain't I supposed to lay low? Why do you want to put me on public display right now?"

"Because you need to be feared, you need to make a name for yourself. And today's the perfect day to start."

As he rose, he extended his hand. "Now get up and go with Frost."

Reluctantly, she accepted his gesture, taking his hand as he gently pulled her up. "What if the police get me?"

"Your thinking really negatively here, Harley."

"What do I do? Just rob the bank? Take as much loot as I can?"

"Frost has the loot bags, don't ya Frost?"

"I might, Boss. But to be honest we haven't robbed a bank in years."

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, the Joker grunted, pulling out his phone and pressing on the screen. "Now I have to call these idiots and I was hoping to avoid that, Frost."

There was a moment of silence as J brought the phone to his ear. "Hunter, meet Frost and Harley at Gotham City Bank in half an hour. What do you mean what for? You guys are gona rob the fucking bank, you fucking moron. Grab ya mask and the loot bags. You still have the loot bags right? Yea I fucking heard this song and dance before about who's got the gloves and who's got the bags. Just get your ass over to the bank and help Harley with this heist. And if anything happens to her you're fucking dead, you understand?"

Swiftly he ended the call, and to his delight he saw Harley smiling sheepishly, twirling at the strands of blonde hair that fell in front of her face.

"See babe, Daddy's got you all taken care of." He patted at her cheek, and she flinched from the pain of the previous night's wounds.

"Do I get a gun?" she asked.

"Frost will give you a machine gun."

She frowned. "I don't know how to use a machine gun!"

"It's easy, toots. He'll show you in the car."

Frantically she looked at Frost, who shrugged his shoulders with a lift of his brows.

"Puddin, please don't let me go without you!" she begged, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm going to mess this up."

He carefully detached her from him, however, holding her shoulders and looking at her with intense eyes. "You'll be fine. You can do this. You gotta waltz in there like you own the place. Give them the fucking attitude you ain't afraid to give me. You'll have back-up."

She extended her lower lip in a pout however, revealing the healing cut on the inside of her flesh.

"Here, I was gona give this to ya last night but you pissed me off."

Reaching into the side of his blazer, he pulled out a thin black box, placing it into the palm of her hands. Narrowing her eyes at him, she opened it carefully and gasped at the contents.

As she pulled out the necklace, the box fell to the floor. She held the white leather choker, and in bright shimmering gold read Puddin. Her cheeks flushed a dark crimson red as she snapped it over her neck, running her fingers against the lettering.

"See babe? Now it's like I'll be there with ya."

To his surprise, she grabbed his cheeks and kissed him hard, despite the pain, forcing her tongue into his mouth, glossing over his teeth, kissing him feverishly until he pushed her off of him, noticing the smear of her lipstick but not bothering to mention to her.

"Play time is later," he said, grazing his thumb against her chin. "Now go with Frost and get the job done. Understood?"

She nodded carefully. "Yes, sir."

He pinched her tattooed cheek.

"Good girl."

~oOo~

The gun felt heavy in her hands, as if she could not carry it's weight on her own. As she sat in the car with Frost, she felt the trepidation of the situation she was entering take over her, finding it difficult to maintain her normal breathing.

It was large and Frost has referred to it as an Uzi. She had watched him insert a magazine of amo into the port before handing it to her. As they drove towards the bank while he took allies and quieter streets to get there, she rolled down the window, aiming the gun outside with an unsteady hold.

"What do I do?" She asked him. The two never looked at each other at this point.

"You're gona rack the cocking handle."

"What's that mean?"

"It means you're gona slide the knob at the top."

She did as she was told. "Now what?"

"Okay, you see the selector switch?"

She paused. "Yea."

"There's three modes on it. Right now it's on safe. The other two are semi automatic and fully automatic. Semi-automatic means one pull of the trigger is one shot. Fully automatic, the gun keeps shooting as long as you hold the trigger down. Move the switch to semi automatic for now and pull the trigger."

With shaking hands, she followed his instruction, squinting her eyes as she aimed the gun outside. Without another thought, she pulled the trigger, then gasped at the sound of the bullet fleeing the weapon and instantaneous shattered glass. She turned to frost and grinned.

"Holy shit, did you hear that?"

"Yes. Good job, Harley."

"Where're the other boys at?"

"They'll meet us there."

"Ain't you gona wear a mask?"

"No need."

She frowned. "Why not?"

She hadn't realized they had already pulled up into the back of the bank, as Frost swiftly stopped the car, resulting in a jerk that had Harley hit her head against the dashboard.

"I'm staying here," he told her, then pulled a gun from his blazer.

"What do you mean you're staying in here?" she replied frantically, rubbing at her forehead.

Almost instantly they were met by two more Hummers.

"I'll keep watch out here. You got plenty of back up."

And as the men exited the vehicles, she saw them dressed in suits, carrying similar firearms and wearing ridiculous over the top masks.

"Now get out and find Hunter. I think he's the one in the black mask."

Quickly she hopped out of the car, landing roughly on her heels. Hunter approached her immediately, pushing her along as the other ten or so men followed.

"Hunter is that you?" she asked, noticing his black head covering void of eyes and containing a large chompy tooth grin, while wearing a clean crisp black suit. "You look fucking ridiculous."

"Yes, it's me, Miss Harley. I got ya loot bags."

Everything at that point happened so swiftly that it felt surreal. It seemed as if she were out of her body watching the events that occurred, for as they approached the entrance of the bank, it was absolute immediate utter hysteria.

The first thing she did as the guns erupted was move the switch from semi automatic to fully automatic, just like Frost told her merely moments ago. Without another thought, she pressed down on the trigger and allowed the gun to fire with a frenzy she didn't expect. The impact of the bullets leaving the firearms almost sent her back. And the feeling was so intense, that it actually felt fun to fire it, as if she were playing with a toy.

As the bullets blasted, the screams began, customers immediately ducking, cowering on the floor, some were hit by the bullets, others crawled for safety. She had never heard such loud blood curdling screams. And as the terror of the people mingled with the sound of the bullets fleeing, it almost sounded like a beautiful melodic hymn.

And this was it. Her moment to shine. Her own theatrical production and chorus line. And she was the star of the show.

 _You gotta waltz in there like you own the place. Give them the fucking attitude you ain't afraid to give me._

Running into the center of the room, she lifted the gun straight into the air and fired, and there the men behind her stopped shooting, now all eyes on her.

And she posed, like a fucking super model, pushing her weight on a single hip, bending her knee, holding the gun like a fashion accessory, and flashing a gorgeous grin.

Aiming the gun forward, she approached the tellers desk and began shooting again, noticing them scramble as she aimed towards the floor, stopping a young woman as she let go of the trigger and aimed the gun directly at her. The woman froze, her green eyes widening as the color drained from her face.

"Hey lady," Harley beamed. "Mind doing me a favor?"

She whistled for Hunter, who approached with the bags. "Fill up these up with all the cash you got. In return I won't fucking kill ya, understood?" She squinted to read her name tag. "Linda?"

She hesitated to respond to Harley's demands, in which she shoved the gun against her chest, massaging the trigger. "Move it, lady!"

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed the bags from Hunter and quickly obliged to Harley's order, her body trembling savagely.

"And I want all hundreds, no petty cash, lady!"

No longer was she scared, no longer did she worry, instead she found a passionate fervor burn at her body, a manic excitement taking over her. It felt as good as sex, maybe even better. There were no police sirens, no difficult victims. Everything was going wonderfully and she began to pace the room, finger placed delicately over the trigger.

She saw several dead bodies, their blood staining the tiles of the bank floor. Several were business men, one was a women in shorts and a tank top. The others hovered on the floor, crouching desperately for their lives. When she heard a cry, she shot at the ceiling again, resulting in several more screams.

"Everybody keep fucking quiet!" she shouted, pointing her gun at several customers. "If I hear another peep out of any of you, you're fucking dead!"

She exhaled loudly when she saw four of the loot bags filled and handed to Hunter. And at that point, she decided that the job was done.

They grabbed the bags, and gracefully Harley bowed before the teller.

"Thanks for ya help, Linda," she beamed, and as they began to make a run for it, red lights began to flicker through out the building as an alarm went off, so loud it rang painfully in her ears.

"Son of a bitch!" Harley yelled, and without another thought she turned her body and began shooting again, pure rage consuming her soul as she grinded her teeth. And she saw Linda and aimed directly at her, allowing the bullets to hit her repeatedly-watching her body fling to the ground as crimson holes bled through her suit.

And they ran, like hell they ran-shooting through the glass, running out and to the back as the faint sound of police sirens could be heard. She felt a piece of glass cut her thigh, feeling the blood trickle down to her knee. But she kept running, until she made it into Frost's car, and the others into their's. Hunter handed her the rest of the loot before hopping into his own vehicle.

Frost drove at such a speed it felt as though she were on a roller coaster-her heart pounding madly, banging against the walls of her chest, and louder did the sound of the police sirens become, and she could see the lights from his rearview mirror.

"Jonny, they're on us, step on it!"

And faster he drove, more manic, and the sound of police sirens and frantic honking melding into one. As she leaned her torso out the window, she began to shoot at the police behind them, the gun shaking violently in her arms as she held the trigger down as hard as she could.

But he lost them-somehow he lost them. Several smart turns, and she heard the sirens become a faint distant sound once more, and there she relaxed into her seat, breathing heavily through her mouth as her chest expanded and released dramatically with each breath.

And there she looked at the money on her lap. She wasn't sure how much money Linda had given them, but as she opened a back she saw stacks of hundreds filled to the brim. And the second bag, more stacks of hundreds. She was going through the bags frantically now, opening the stacks, trying to count the money. But there was too much to count.

She was making a mess in his car, but she didn't notice, she didn't care. There was money everywhere and she found herself crying. She was crying hysterically, tears pouring down her cheeks, so hot that they burned her skin like acid.

"Harley, are you okay? Don't worry, we're almost there."

She ignored Frost's concern, continuing to cry, to dig through the money. She could still feel the bullets as they left the gun and struck Linda, watching the life flee from her body as bloody holes ripped at her chest.

She buried her face in the money as she sobbed. But slowly, the sobbing morphed into laughter. Loud, frenzied, manic laughter. And she wiped her tears with the cash, inhaling the crisp dollar bills, as more tears continued to flow sloppily along her face. She couldn't stop laughing and she couldn't stop crying, but delved herself into the money, throwing it into the air, watching it land on her body and on the car floor, like a beautiful rainy day.

~oOo~

"Breaking news, Gotham City Bank was robbed today at massive gun point by several masked men and one woman who led the robbery. Though the Joker was absent from the scene, it appears to have been his gang that was involved."

Harley laid in bed, utterly naked, besides an equally nude Joker, both in an embrace underneath the bed sheets. As she cuddled against him protectively, she wrapped her wounded thigh around his leg, pressing her breasts against her chest, while he leaned back against his propped up pillow, hands behind his head in amusement.

They glared at the TV, the only light in the room.

There the channel flashed images taken from a security camera at the bank, featuring Harley taking center stage.

"Five were killed and eight wounded in the robbery. And there is reason to believe the woman behind the theft is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, kidnap victim of the Joker during his escape from Arkham Asylum."

A blurry close-up from the security footage plastered the screen, and there the Joker laughed, sliding an arm over Harley's shoulder and bringing her closer to him.

"Look at that, baby, you're fucking famous!" He chuckled again, and she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Are you proud of me, Puddin?" she asked hopefully, a squeak to her voice.

"The proudest I've ever been."

As he kissed her, she seemed to forget all the pain and anguish she felt the rest of the day after the larceny. The images of the woman she killed disintegrated and were replaced with his approval of her.

And the power she experienced that day, it changed her. And from there she began to slowly yet precisely morph into an imagine of himself, a bizarre female replica of him.

Now she understood all the theatrics, the dazzling performances he put on. It all made glorious, wonderful sense.

Harley found herself craving more, and graciously he fed her new addiction, to the point where the whole world would recognize who she was and who she belonged to and what she was capable of.

And she became less and less afraid of being killed, and more excited of what was to come.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

There was a mistiness to the room, with messily thrown clothes on the floor, heavy breathing and panting disturbing the serene silence of the night.

Over the last few days he had sent her on several more petty jobs, each time she came back successful and a little more crazy. This night in particular she had robbed several gas stations, and arrived home with bags of money and blood splattered on her clothes. The sight of her drove him mad, and as he watched her spill the stolen cash onto the bed, he took her then and there, with a fiery passion she did not expect.

Underneath him she squirmed, money sticking onto the sweat of her body, plastered over her back and thighs. There was so much of it around them, under them, and it felt soft and crisp and sensual. And the way he was moving inside her, with a heated vehement control, each thrust was prolonged and fluid, and he wouldn't stop kissing her-her mouth, her neck, her breast-his lips never leaving her skin, his tongue sliding over her flesh and tasting her sinfully sweet perspiration.

He felt so good that she couldn't find the strength to wrap her legs around him, could barely arch her back to meet his hips, laying there sloppily, her hands tracing the muscles of his back, feeling them pulsate and quiver, her palms becoming slick from his sweat.

He was so into her, more than usual, and she could feel it, as he ate at her body with a ravenous hunger. She threw her head back, her face scrunching in painful pleasure as he glided his mouth to her breast, leaving a warm wet trail on her skin, sucking her nipple, her rosy peaks puckering at his gesture.

"Mistah J are you proud of me?" she asked breathily with a moan. He kissed her mouth once more, moving in her harder.

"Stop talking," he ordered her in a whisper. When he kissed her again, she wrapped her arms round his neck, entangling her legs with his.

When his lips slid down to the side of her neck, he lingered there, suckling her skin while she hugged him tighter.

"When are we gonna pull a job together?"

"I said stop talking."

His tongue ventured into her mouth, keeping her quiet, while his hand slid to the small of her waist, lifting her hips so that their hip bones met, and there he moved a little faster, a little harder.

Her panting quickened, moans trapped within her throat, and she broke their kiss, now kissing him in short choppy pecks as she tried to get her words out.

"There's a jewelry auction tomorrow night at a charity gala, Mistah J."

Her voice with low and heavy, almost hard to understand as she was interrupted by loud breathing and kissing in between words. But he heard her well.

"You can go," he answered her, to her surprise, feeling his breath burn her neck, while his hands slid from her back to her rear, grabbing her cheeks and further lifting her to meet his thrusts. There was a warmth slowly building up in the center of her body, but she tried to fight it, to delay it, to finish what she was saying to him.

"Can we go together?"

He didn't respond, but he could feel her begin to contract around him.

He ceased their intimate position, taking her knees and pressing them together, then pushing them forward towards her chest. She knew what he was doing, putting her in a position where she would easily and quickly climax, trying to shut her up.

Her feet against his chest, she was tempted to kick her off him, but the moment he started moving inside her again, in this position, the warmth in her groin immediately became a fierce blazing heat, that she clenched her jaw and felt her ecstasy consume her. She screamed in pure absolute satisfaction, her body trembling as she buried her hands in fist fulls of money.

She hadn't forgotten, however, and amidst her climax she asked, "Please?!"

With an odd gentleness, he turned her around, so that she laid stomach first, cash sticking onto her cheek. She felt him enter her again,wincing at the feeling of fullness, and there he laid his body flat against hers, holding her torso, planting hot kisses down her shoulder blade.

She couldn't control the moans fluidly leaving her mouth, closing her eyes as her face distorted into pure euphoria.

But she still managed to ask again quietly. "Please, Puddin?"

She moaned, her body turning into a haven of sexual gratification, as his palms cupped her breasts, his movements becoming quicker and harder. She could only lay there and experience him, feel him, let her body blissfully climax one more time.

When he pulled out, she felt him finish on her back, the both of them trying to catch their breaths, while he laid beside her, a dramatic rise and fall to his chest.

She tried one more time. "Puddin-"

"Ok, we'll go."

A bit rattled, she sat up and looked down at him, money sticking to several areas of her wet body.

"Really?"

His hands resting against the back of his head, he sighed. "Yea sure, why not."

She shrieked gleefully, throwing herself on top of him. "Thank you, Mistah J!"

Their moment was interrupted, however, as J's phone began to ring. With a heavy, loud grunt, he reached over to the night stand, rolling his eyes as he looked at the name that flashed on the phone. Harley squeaked as he rolled her off of him, feeling money gluing to her back.

"This better be good, Frost." There was a silence for a moment, and she could not decipher what was being said on the other line. But she saw his face drop, a glassiness to his eyes.

"They offed one of the boys? Which one? Shit, he was a good one! Have you idiots found Angelo yet?"

She felt her chest become heavy as she listened to their conversation, and when he suddenly hung up she had a million questions for him, but chose her words wisely.

"Who'd they whack?"

"Tommy. You don't know him."

"Where?"

"At his home."

She gulped. "How?"

"It fucking doesn't matter how," he answered, growing tense and annoyed. "You don't worry about it. I'm taking care of it."

Seeing her unease, he sighed. "Don't you have a job to be planning for us tomorrow, doll face?"

She half smiled at him.

~oOo~

A job with J, she saw first hand, was more grand and whimsical than she would have imagined.

He made her dress up, in a gown down to her knees, hugging at her curves, and a ridiculous feathered hat. He wore a tuxedo, face even more painted than hers, his hair slicked back as the gel enhanced the neon green color of his strands.

And they had burst in so beautifully and maniacally, shooting down the doors, the security, anyone who dared to stand in their way. A group of his henchman followed behind them, the sound of the multitude of machine guns shooting and the screams of the guests melded together into one beautiful harmony. Oh, and the laughter-his laughter-it was loud and bellowing and so contagious she couldn't help but laugh with him.

It was gloriously decorated inside the hotel ballroom, for the rich guests who graced the event. The circular tables were draped in white silk, the carpets clean and smooth in a beautiful Persian design. But the beauty was tarnished as they paraded inside, shooting aimlessly, madly, and her eyes caught the sight of magnificent chandelier above them. Oh, it was huge and bright and made up of thousands of crystals. She wasn't sure why she did it, what purpose it fulfilled. Instead she saw the sparkle and it captured her eyes, and with a mad laugh she shot at the beautiful ornament. It fell from the ceiling just as beautifully, as it falling to its handsome suicide, and landing onto an empty table, smashing loudly into many pieces.

The henchman took their places as Harley and Joker approached the small stage, where she instantly noticed the mass of gorgeous sparkling jewelry. Licking her lips, she pulled out her bags and began to fill it up, while J grabbed the microphone from the stand in one gloved hand, while casually holding his firearm in the other.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he spoke with a bombastic tone, pacing the stage while Harley hungrily filled her bag with the jewelry. A very solemn silence had filled the room, while attendees hid underneath tables, victims laying lifelessly on the carpets that were stained a deep crimson red. "Sorry to interrupt your lovely event. We'll only be a moment, I promise." He looked back at the girl behind him and frowned. "Harley, hurry the fuck up."

Merrily she turned around, pointing her gun up. "I'm done, Mistah J!"

"You all have a wonderful evening," he spoke again into the microphone, placing it back onto the stand. "We apologize again for the hold up." And he laughed. And she laughed, and the microphone caught the laughter, causing a painfully loud disturbance in the sound system.

But the laughter soon ceased, and the henchmen began to shoot frantically. It happened so fast Harley couldn't comprehend at first what was going on. But she saw a look of annoyance hit J's face, and he grabbed her hand as he pulled her away hastily.

"You took too fucking long and now the Bat is here," he muttered loudly, and she felt her heart stop.

And too quickly she saw him, dodging bullets, majestically maneuvering himself throughout the room. He was a tall dark figure, cloaked in thick black rubber, his cape flowing freely as he took on the henchmen with swift punches, knocking them out despite their frenzied weapons.

She stopped moving and watched him, even as J detached himself from her and began to shoot at him, she didn't move. Her eyes focused on the man in the black suit, becoming entranced as she gazed at him. He was so heroic, so fluid like a gymnast. He was like a dark angel. A shadowy savior.

And she saw the both of them-her Puddin and the Batman-duel. Gun versus fists. So much moving and dodging that she became dizzy watching them. And yet she still couldn't move when the man in black approached her, grabbed her, held her to him as if to protect her.

She was still holding her gun, her finger trembling over the trigger.

But she hesitated. And she wondered.

Was this her way out?

Was this her ticket to freedom? To be free of the Joker? To go back to whatever chance she had of a normal life? It would mean prison, perhaps a stay at Arkham herself. But she would be free of him, free of his hold on her, free of the life she was currently living.

"Dr. Quinzel," she heard him speak, his voice low. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. I'm going to take you away from him."

And she almost obliged. Almost dropped the gun and wrapped her arms around his strong frame, to whisk her away to safety. She was so close to giving herself up, but then she caught the gaze of the Joker, his face bloodied and his eyes digging into her own, the fierce blue hue piercing at her soul. And she felt her love for him overpower any doubt she had, her heart pounding as the love filled her and control her.

She was tired of being the victim. The Joker's victim, the Mafia's victim. To be seen to the world as a victim. Even as she committed murder and crimes, she was still a victim.

She surprised the Bat when she hit him on the head with her machine gun, and in one swift move pulled a woman from underneath a table, blocking out her scream as she held the terrified patron and pressed the gun against her chest.

"I ain't Dr. Quinzel no more," she yelled harshly at him, and smiled. "I'm Harley Quinn. And I belong to the Joker now."

She ran with her hostage, meeting the Joker, and leaving with the remainder of his henchmen as she tossed the girl back into the room, throwing her harshly onto the ground.

But he followed them, chased them, even as they entered their car and sped away did he follow them, in his sleek long black car, through the streets of Gotham. It was beautiful, chaotic, just as she imagined her first run in with the Batman to be. And the Joker handled it gracefully, yet crazily, as he seemed excited and enticed by the situation. As if he loved fighting the Bat as much as he loved beating him.

And somehow they lost him, their laughter filling the car as they sped down the streets, the obnoxious revving of the engine roaring along with them.

Immediately at their arrival to his hideout, she spilled the jewelry onto the floor, reveling at the glittering diamonds and gem stones, pressing a sparkling necklace against her collar bone, as she knelt over the jewels. She ignored J as he took a call, but could still hear him in the background.

"Frost, what is it? You better have good news for me. I ain't in a good mood. Harley nearly got us captured by the Bat."

He paused. "You found him?"

Harley dropped the jewelry, lips parting as she stared at a now grinning Joker. Her hands began to tremble, she wasn't sure if from fear or excitement or from the remaining adrenaline left over from their escapade. But she was shaking madly now, the unknown feeling filling her chest.

"Bring him to the club. We'll be there in an hour."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Harley didn't know how she would feel once she'd face him.

Would she pity him? Hate him? Want to kill him herself? Try to stop J from killing him? Was J even planning on killing him? She wasn't sure what the outcome of this game would be, what the actual plan was. All she knew is that she killed Angelo's wife, so how could she hate a man who she hurt so terribly? How could she be the prey when she was the hunter?

But she knew the horrible truth that no matter what Angelo's fate would be, it would not change hers. The hit would still exist. Her life as it was wouldn't change. Even if her current threat was gone, there would be others, many others, and many much worse. Her life lost significance, it could be gone at any moment, for any reason. And she lived a dangerous life now, being with J, choosing him over a normal, safe existence. She had chosen this maddening, unstable, chaotic life, all for him.

She killed for him. Stole for him. She would die for him. And all for what? What would he give up for her? She hoped she would never find out the answer, because she feared the answer to be...nothing.

She had fallen in love with a criminal. She had herself become a gangster.

He had her change her clothes, into something more appropriate for his club. And obediently, she obliged, putting on a tight royal blue strapless dress. He didn't say much to her, as he waited with a somber patience for her. His face was void of any emotion, his expression so blank not even she could figure out his thoughts. She watched him with curious eyes as she slipped on her black heels, leaning against the wall for support.

And even in the car, he was eerily quiet, his solemn energy radiating through her.

That is, until he asked her, "Why'd you stall?"

She had been looking out the window, and slowly turned to him with furrowed brows. "What?"

His eyes remained on the road, his grip on the wheel casual. "When the Bat came to you. Why'd you stall?"

"I...I didn't."

"I ain't stupid. I saw you staring at him. What'd you think, he was gona save you, Harley?"

Refusing to look at her still, she saw his lips purse, a slice to his bottom lip where there remained dried blood.

She frowned however, her eyes digging into him, while her fingers nervously fumbled together. "I said I didn't stall. I was just stunned, that's all."

He chuckled, however, loudly, dramatically. And there he looked at her, the blue in his eyes shinning in a bright, unnatural tone.

"If I ever see you even hesitate," he began slowly. "That's it. You're gone. Let him take you. And if he does, I ain't gona try to get you back."

She didn't realize he had stopped the car, that he had brought them to the back of the club. Instead she sat there in silence, returning his stare, a sense of dread filling her. As he reached over and petted her cheek, he ran his knuckles against her skin. She felt the cold metal of his rings tickle her flesh. "Do you understand, baby?"

His finger trickled over her mouth, sliding down until he lingered over her bottom lip. Slowly, she nodded.

"Good girl," he replied, the smile fading from his lips as he held her chin. "Now come to Daddy."

And he kissed her, slowly, painfully. She could taste the blood on his mouth, while his tongue crept inside and massaged her own, caressing then the roof of her mouth, until finding hers again.

He continued to hold her chin as his lips detached from hers, leaving her mouth wet and salivating.

Void of gentleness, he patted her cheek. "Now let's go kill a mobster."

She paused as she watched him turn off the engine then exit the vehicle, coming around to her side and opening her door. With glistening eyes she looked up at him, swallowing the dry lump in her throat as she accepted his hand, leaving with him.

He continued to hold her hand as they entered the club, not affectionately but as if to let everyone know who she belonged to. She noticed eyes purposely avoid her, and as she stumbled behind him, his grip on her tightened. The music was loud, pounding against her ear drums, the beat pulsating within her chest, as a multitude of colored lights hit her body. It felt like a spotlight almost, reserved just for them.

When he led them into his private booth, she saw Hunter and Drake seated on one of the sofas, sitting in unison with their backs hunched forward and palms rubbing at their chins. Frost paced the area uncomfortably, scratching at the back of his head. The instant J saw him, he let her go.

"Harley, sit down," he ordered her, without a glance. Cautiously, she placed herself on a seat behind him, opposite Hunter and Drake, the glass table separating them. They, however, were too anxious to acknowledge her, as she could see beads of sweat dampen their foreheads.

J approached Frost, a manic expression crossing his face. "Where is he?" His arms extended with a shake of his head.

"Boss, Rocks and Vito have him. They're bringing him now. I just spoke with Rocks."

"Did they find his lab?"

"We found everything."

J laughed, his gesture loud and obnoxious. "This is too fucking good. Frost, remind me to give you a raise after this."

She felt herself tense as she sat there, becoming a witness to the storm of events that were to follow. Silent she remained, yet alert, soaking in every detail of the moment. From the nervous tapping of Hunter's foot as he sat before her with sweat dripping down his neck, to the continued anxious pacing of Jonny and concentrated breaths of Drake, she saw she was surrounded by apprehensive men. That is, accept for the Joker, his face still consumed by his joyful smirk, his ecstatic aura more powerful than the rest.

And when Rocks and Vito dragged him in, she found it odd how much he complied, his hands tied behind his back, walking between the men as they led him in the center of the room. Yet she saw the handgun Vito placed securely against the center of his upper back, holding it so steadily and casually that it almost went unnoticed. She recognized Angelo immediately from his pictures. He was a much younger version of his cousin-dark, tall, and lean, with a dangerous allure to him. Lower she sunk into her seat, watching him, his brown eyes glistening as he was brought before J, yet his posture never hunching, his face never showing any fear. He looked the Joker squarely in his eyes. And there the smirk was wiped off his face, while he sat on the glass table, looking up at the lamb brought to him. At J's urging, Jonny sat with Hunter and Drake, the three men sitting in silence.

"Well who do we have here?" J beamed. "Could it be the fucking nark? The dead beat? Angelo, could it be you?"

"You're fucking dead, J," he spat out at him, his voice clean and void of an accent and rather boyish. Harley could see the white button up he wore stick to his skin from his anxious sweating, emphasizing the curve of his slender frame. He chocked when Vito slid the gun from his back to the side of his head, pressing the weapon harshly against his skin.

"Have some fucking respect for the Joker," Vito ordered.

J smiled however, standing up, face to face with Angelo. The contrast of their skin was intense, from an oilve tan to the pale bleached white, from the deep brown eyes to the penetrating icy blue. And the skin toned tanned lips to the deep bloody crimson. They were the same height, almost same build, so close their breaths must have hit each other. There, J cupped Angelo's cheek, patting him almost affectionately.

"Now, now. Don't be so tough on the boy. He's young. He wasn't aware of the shit storm he caused at the time. Weren't ya, Angelo?"

"You killed Alexandra. You killed Giovanni." He spoke in a manner that was so calm yet deadly heated. She saw Rocks and Vito tighten their grips on him, pressing the tip of the gun deep into his skull. Harley felt her chest drop, her heartbeat hasten. She started feeling sick to her stomach staring at Angelo, wanting him dead already yet another part of her wanting to beg for his forgiveness.

"I did, didn't I?" the Joker beamed silently with a wink. "And now I'm gona kill you."

"You're a sick fucker, J," Angelo continued, his voice shaking as he spoke. "You'll get what's coming to you."

J's lips twisted away from his smile, a solemn look overtaking him. Slowly, he extended his hand. "Vito, give me the gun."

With brief hesitation, Vito obliged, and Harley saw no motion of relief from Angelo as the gun was displaced from his head into the hold of the Joker.

He didn't aim the weapon at him, however, but held it up and gazed at it, rubbing the metal with his sleeve. It seemed to glitter, beautifully, and he admired it for a moment, while Angelo's eyes followed his movements carefully, cautiously. And there it happened, the moment she had been dreading yet anticipating. Angelo's eyes shifted over towards her, and their stares met.

She tried to look away from him, but he was locked on her, his gaze cutting into her, destroying her, conquering her. As if he were fulfilling the hit right then and there. The only thing that relieved her of the instance was J taking the gun and throwing it back, then smashing it against Angelo's jaw.

He grunted loudly, painfully, hunching his back from the blow. J paused for a moment, as if to enjoy the view of his enemy suffering. But when Angelo chuckled, he was quick to hit him again, this time on the top side of his head. Lowly the man groaned, his eyes rolling as he tried to regain control of his sight. And again he looked at her, half smiling, his jaw already bruised. He refused to look away from her, and she pressed her knees together in discomfort, her breathing quickening.

J took notice, however, grabbing Angelo's chin and holding him securely. She saw he was manically beginning to shake, anger consuming him. "Like what you see there, buddy?" With an unsteady hand, he brought the gun to the center of his forehead. When he didn't answer him, J squeezed his jaw more firmly. "Hmm? Well, do ya?"

"I seen your girl on the news," he barked, spit flying from his mouth. "You really that broke now, J? That you gotta send your bitch to rob banks and gas stations for you?"

She wasn't sure what part had set him off-if it was that he called her a bitch or that he insinuated J was broke or a mixture of both. But she knew she had never seen him this angry, this upset, this full of rage. It boiled inside him, sending him to a fit of insanity, and there she learned what it truly meant to beat the shit out of someone. Over and over and over, the gun hit his face, each thrash more powerful than the last. And with every blow, she could hear the victim groan, blood decorating his face, smearing over his skin. J remained silent, overcome with his rage, unable to stop himself from beating him senseless.

In horror and fascination she watched, wondering when it would end, watching him destroy the visage of the handsome man, until finally he pulled himself away, breathing heavily, a dramatic rise and fall to his chest. Angelo remained hunched, unable to support himself, forcing Rocks and Vito to hold him up. His flesh was swollen, blood dripping down his temples and from a cut on his lips. Lowly, he began to cough, choking for breath. And for a moment there was silence, the music of the club filling the space, replacing the murderous sounds that previously occupied. The bass pounded against her chest, and she shivered from the solemness.

Gingerly, J sat back atop of the glass table, embracing the gun tenderly, a growl trembling in his throat.

"Here's what we are gona do, Angelo. And this will dictate whether I decide to kill you fast or slow," he began, rubbing at his own chin. "We already found ya lab. We are going to clean the place spotless. But first I believe you owe me some money from a faulty transaction the last time we met. Do you remember that one?"

As he looked at the Joker, Angelo breathed heavily, licking the blood from his mouth. "I ain't giving you a dime, J," he muttered. "You're fucking dead, and so is your girl. I'm going to take the one thing you care about like you took the one thing I cared about!"

He was crying now, and she found herself pitying him, felt tears sting at her own eyes. Everything seemed to stop when J stood up again, rolling his jaw as he brought the gun back up to Angelo's face, aiming directly at his forehead. He was still, his body controlled. He wasn't shaking this time, but gazed at the Italian somberly, his eyes burning through him.

"Wrong answer, buddy," he spoke, his lips tugging shyly at a smirk. She saw his finger slide over the trigger. And then she heard the shots go off.

But not from him.

Gun shots filled the vicinity, and there she saw Rocks and Vito hit, both in their foreheads, saw the life leave their eyes as they hit the floor and released Angelo. She didn't understand what was happening, who had hit them, but she heard more shots, and then screams. Frost, Drake, and Hunter stood, grabbing their own firearms from their holsters and shooting as they ran towards the danger. And there she felt J grab her, pushing her body to the floor as he pressed his weight on top of her, shielding her from the gunfire, while her cheek rubbed painfully on the ground. Raising his arm, he began to shoot, as the shots came nearer. She heard bodies hit the floor, and then his own loud grunt, where she noticed he had been hit in the shoulder.

He kept her on the ground for several more minutes; the shooting died down, and there he forced her up with him, grabbing her by the waist and pressing her to his side as he began to run.

She saw the dead bodies of Rocks and Vito on the ground. She was scared yet not upset. She hated those two from the moment she met them. Blood leaked from the single bullet holes in their heads, their eyes still opened, the blood spilling down the lengths of their faces. When he took her out of the private booth, she saw more bodies, of clients and dancers, lifeless on the ground, their blood soaking the tiles of the dance floor. And she felt her stomach churn, a cry stifled in her throat. He led them through the exit at the back of the building, and when he saw men huddled by his car, he aimed his gun directly at them.

She pulled at his arm anxiously when she noticed Frost first, and then Drake and Hunter.

Dragging Harley towards the car, he fired a shot into the air, groaning feverishly.

"What the hell just happened?!" J exclaimed, a frenzied furor overtaking him.

"Boss, Angelo's men were in the club. They fired and took him with them before we could stop them."

J heaved through his nostrils as Frost spoke with a shaky voice. Drake and Hunter maintained their same previous level of unease, huddled together behind Frost, hands still gripping their guns. The tension flowed through all of their bodies.

"This isn't fucking over yet," he scorned, now beginning to laugh. "I am going to kill him, break his fucking neck. His whole fucking family is dead!"

As he pushed Harley away from him, he slammed his hands down atop the car, unable to control his frantic breathing, consumed by his mania. She flinched at the sound of his harshness, the gun remaining clasped in his hand, his grip on the weapon so tight that his hand shook as he held it.

"They got fucking Rocks and Vito!" he yelled, shaking his head angrily as he stared at his reflection on the car. In the distance, police sirens rang, consuming the streets, and there Joker regained his composure, straightening his back and looking at his men firmly.

"Meet me at the hideout. Don't follow directly behind me."

~oOo~

When he stopped at their home, they sat in the car for a moment. She wasn't sure if he was stalling for his henchman or just needed a moment to process what happened. He hadn't spoken to her the entire ride, and there silently he remained, his hand gripping the wheel as his eyes narrowed in concentration. He was still breathing heavily, the sound consuming the vehicle, gazing blankly before him.

She wanted to comfort him somehow, but didn't know what to do. She knew any sort of affection he would turn away. And now as she had time to swallow all that had just occurred within the last hour, fear began to fill her chest, her knees quivering as she pressed them together. She couldn't control the tears that fell from her lashes, sliding down her cheeks, and the soft whimpers that came with them.

He looked at her instantly, his gaze neutral. "Why the fuck are you crying?"

She snapped her neck at him, her face distorted from her sobs, her cheeks soaked and stained black from her running mascara. "I'm...scared," she answered quietly.

"Don't. Has anything happened to you yet? Nothing's gona happen to you. I won't let it."

"And what about you?"

"Don't worry about me."

She shook her head at him, however, wiping at her tears with her knuckles. "I can't do that, J!" she exclaimed, and there she saw a wave of annoyance cross his face. "And why the fuck not?"

"Because I love you!"

It wasn't the first time she said it, but there was a deeper connotation now, one that took him off guard, and allowed his face to soften towards her. She saw his lips part, and for a sweet moment she believed he would return the gesture. But, instead he sighed, caressing her cheek with his palm. She felt her tears stain his hand, and for a long moment they stared at one another, until he leaned in and kissed her softly, lingering there, moving his mouth against her own. A sigh remained muffled in her throat, as she took her hands and smooth them over the skin of his neck, kissing him deeper, more profoundly. And they became so encircled in the moment that the sound of a knock against J's window startled them, forcing them to disconnect immediately as J turned his neck sharply. Seeing Frost's face, he rolled down his window.

"Sorry to uh, interrupt, Boss," he spoke sheepishly, glancing towards Harley. "But we don't think it's a good idea to stay out here."

J didn't answer, but grunted gravely, rolling up his window and turning off the engine. Harley opened the door and immediately felt a shiver take her, crossing her arms over her chest as the bitter wind howled against her bare skin. J observed her discomfort, a roll to his eyes as he began to remove his black blazer. However, as the jacket slipped off his shoulders, she saw a thick bright red stain on the white shirt he wore below.

"Puddin!" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm. He hissed in pain, and with apologetic eyes she pulled away from him. Through the hysteria, she had forgotten he had been shot, and he had been so rattled by the storm of events he seemed to have forgotten himself. He still weakly handed her his blazer, and with tears stinging at her eyes she accepted it, only to place it back around his shoulders.

"Boss, you OK?" Frost asked, a look of concern crossing him.

"Where the fuck are Hunter and Drake?" he only hissed in return, as Harley glued herself to his side.

With a crook of his head, Frost motioned towards the Hummer parked behind them.

J grunted. "Tell those fucking morons to quit hiding, we have work to do."

"Puddin, you're hurt!" Harley interjected, wrapping her arms around his waist. She could feel his irritation bubbling inside him, his hands curling into fists, yet for perhaps her sake he controlled himself.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

"You got shot in the back, you ain't fine!"

"Harley's right, Boss. I think you should take care of that first." He seemed less annoyed when it came from Frost rather than her.

As if in defeat, he looked down at Harley, his lips shifting. "You ever take a bullet out of someone before?"

~oOo~

In the privacy of their bathroom she unbuttoned his shirt, and without her heels on she was faced directly at his chest. As she removed each button she was greeted with naked, pale, tattooed skin, her eyes moving down the length of his torso, down to the last button towards his navel. She wanted to touch him, kiss his stomach, felt a sudden urge to be close to him. She craved the intimacy they experienced in the car only a few moments ago, to be locked in another tender embrace with him.

She resisted the urge, and instead carefully slid his shirt off his shoulders, exposing blood dried onto his right shoulder blade. She flinched when he winced from the pain of fabric being pulled away from his wound. With caution, she looked up in his eyes, a blush tinting her cheeks, and slowly she maneuvered to the right side of his body, gently grazing her fingers over his arm, looking towards his back at his shoulder blade, furrowing her brows in distress at what she discovered.

At the top of his shoulder blade, she saw where the bullet pierced him, the pellet poking out of the black hole it left in his flesh, the blood that surrounded it was a dark crimson, as more red blood slowly leaked from the wound. She brushed her finger over the fresh blood, then took a warm, wet towel and lightly dabbed at the area as carefully and gently as she could. However, he groaned, hunching his back, allowing more blood to drizzle down his skin. As she grabbed at the rubbing alcohol, she frowned, licking her lips as she poured some of the clear liquid onto the towel, and quickly, before she could change her mind, pressed it back against his shoulder.

He groaned again, with much more fervor, his body tightening as she saw he was trying to control his reaction to the pain as much as he could. She wiped away as much blood as she could, and placing a kiss against his back, tried to ease him somehow, yet she realized she was the one who needed comfort when she eyed the tweezers, her stomach clenching painfully at the thought at what she was about to do next.

Sighing, she picked up the silver instrument, dabbing them in alcohol. He looked over at her curiously, a lift to his brow bones.

"You have to cut the skin first," he told her calmly. "You won't be able to get to it like that."

She frowned. "This has happened before?"

"Of course it has." He paused, noticing her unease. "If you can't do it, I can have Frost do it."

However, she shook her head at him. "No, I can do it."

Looking through the first aid kit on the sink, she found small, sharp scissors. Biting at her lower lip, she dipped them into the alcohol as well. Wiping them down, she stood on the tips of her toes as she reached towards the back of his shoulder, grazing the edge of the scissors against his skin.

Slowly pecking at the hole, she clasped the scissors and sliced at his skin. He exhaled loudly, squirming underneath her. Fresh blood escaped the wound, and quickly she wiped at it with the alcohol laced rag, she felt him tense up again.

"Make it quick, Harley," he snapped at her.

She cut his skin again, taking her fingers to extend the hole, and with her opposing hand she grabbed the tweezers and delved them inside, clasping at the bullet. As she began to force the pellet out of his body, he grunted, his face scrunching in pain, while his hands curled into tight, quivering fists. She struggled for a moment, anxiety pounding at her chest, unable to properly remove the bullet lodged in his skin. Blood staining her fingers, she pulled his skin apart even more, until she successfully latched onto the piece of metal. She could hear it as it slid out of his flesh, immediately followed by another trail of blood, flowing down the length of his back.

He immediately exhaled as he felt the bullet leave his body, sweat dripping down his face and neck. She boldly held up her bloody hand before him, clenching the tweezers that securely held the bullet.

"It's OK, Puddin. I got it out. See?"

Dropping the tweezers into the sink, the blood splashed and stained the white porcelain basin. She ran the water, more blood blotching the counter as she held her hands underneath the faucet. She dabbed at the blood on his back before grabbing a large bandage and covering the lesion.

Taking a clean hand towel, she delicately stroked at the sweat on his face, while he continued to take deep breaths through his mouth, their eyes locking as she tended to him.

It felt as if they were alone for the first time, as if they were about to kiss for the first time. She knew he could feel it too, this new level of intimacy, the slight discomfort between them, and the tension that gripped them. She knew he could feel it, and she sensed that he hated himself for it. That she had become a weakness to him, to the man who had no weaknesses. And all she could think about was how he threw himself on top of her, to protect her, without hesitation. As she brushed the towel against his mouth, she found herself balancing on the tips of her toes, her fingers placed against his jaw, and he lowered his neck to meet her half way, until their lips connected gingerly, sweetly.

It was a long, dreamy moment, as they kissed slowly, tenderly, his lips warm against her. But she felt it when it happened, the moment he took control of his emotions, when his body tensed and he took her by the shoulders, removing her from him. Reluctantly, she parted from his mouth, her lips still in a pucker as she saw him leave the bathroom and make way towards their closet.

"We don't have time for this," he said without even looking at her. She went to follow him, watched as he pulled out another shirt from the closet, hastily putting it on without even buttoning it.

He stopped her before deciding to join the men in the other room. "You stay here."

Her face formed into a scowl. "Why?"

"Because you don't need to be involved in this."

"It involves me, don't it?"

"That's the problem. It needs to _stop_ involving you."

She wasn't sure what he meant by that, and before she could inquire further, he left and shut the door in her face, leaving her standing there dumbfounded and mouth agape.

She was too tired to be upset, consumed by exhaustion and fear to be angry. Removing her clothes, she stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to hit her bare skin as she closed her eyes, succumb by the new emotions she experienced.

The shallowness in her belly, like butterflies dancing in her abdomen. The fluttering sensation in her chest, tickling at her breasts. And the horrible need and desire to be close to him, to hold him, to be near him. This is what it truly felt like to fall in love. And though he would forever deny it, she saw him fall in love with her tonight. And it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And it would mean bad news, for the both of them.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

She knew she would get caught, just like she always did. But she had to hear what they were saying, what plan they were concocting this time. After her cleanse she threw on an over-sized tee shirt, leaving her hair wet and tangled. She stood in her usual eavesdropping corner, silently placing her back against the wall, moving her damp hair away from her ear to heighten her hearing.

"We're gona have to close the club, Boss. The police are all over it by now. There's no going back after what happened."

The first thing she heard was Drake speak, following by an aggravated grunt from J.

"No fucking shit," he mocked him angrily. "That fucker keeps finding ways to screw me over. This is gona cost me big time."

She witnessed a pause, hearing the clank of a glass. Carefully she slid down to a kneel, maneuvering herself to see what was going on. Drake, Frost, and Hunter sat together, while J remained alone, and there she saw him take a shot, his face cringing from the bitter taste.

"So now what?" He spoke again, putting the shot glass on the table and clasping his fingers together. "What's our next move? How do we finally get this asshole once and for all?"

He watched the three men attentively, raising his brow bones as he rested his elbows onto his lap. They remained silent, however, yet it was an uncomfortable silence.

"Nothing? No more bright ideas, fellas?" He grinned.

"Well...there is one, Boss," Frost spoke up, rubbing generously at his chin.

"And what would that be?"

Frost gave him a knowing look, pursing his lips together uncomfortably, a shrug to his shoulders. "It's the one you didn't like."

A scowl crossed J's face, reaching for the bottle of vodka and messily he poured himself another shot. "I told you we ain't doing that."

"But we never really took it off the table."

"I said we ain't. Doing. That." He spat the words coldly, precisely, glaring at Jonny as he swiftly drank down the clear liquid, not even flinching this time. Squeezing the glass in his hand, he flared his nostrils.

"Boss, we know how you feel about Harley," Hunter interjected, leaning forward. "But making her the bait is the best option we have right now."

Joker chuckled however, a manic smile curving his lips as he glared at his henchman. "You know how I feel about Harley? Please. _Enlighten me._ "

Hunter gulped, however, tugging nervously at his collar as he leaned back against the couch. "Jonny, you tell him. He likes you more."

Sighing, Frost scratched at the back of his head, fumbling his mouth. "Boss, we've seen ladies come and go, but since you brought this one, it seems she has been affecting your judgement and you've gone kind of soft."

Oh, the look in J's eyes as he glared at his top sideman, folding his hands in a dire patience, heaving through his nostrils like a bull ready to sprint.

"You are dead fucking lucky I lost two good men today," the Joker heaved, pointing a finger precisely at Frost. "Otherwise you'd be fucking dead right now."

"I'm saying this for your own good," he argued back boldly. "I know you're in love with her, but you need to think of-"

But he was interrupted by the loud, screechy cackling of the Joker, slamming his hand down fiercely onto the table, his jaw dropping as the brooding laughter bellowed from deep in his gut. She felt her skin tingle as she watched him, listened to him, her eyes welling with tears, a whimper trapped within her throat. She wanted to look away, leave the scene, forget everything she just heard, but she was compelled to stay, to further hear of their plans, and what J really intended for her.

"So you boys think your boss has gone soft, don't ya?" he smirked, now taking the bottle directly and pushing it to his mouth. She saw him lean his head back, taking a big gush of the alcohol, coughing as he pulled the bottle away and clumsily hit it onto the table. "You think I'm whipped? That I'm not a fucking leader any more? Is that what you are saying?"

"Boss, it's not like that, we just think you need to put this situation above your feelings for Harley."

"It's not gona happen! We ain't doing it!" He shook his head vehemently, running his fingers through his hair. "No, it's not an option. It's not a God damn option!"

Placing her palm over her mouth, she concealed a stifled cry, trembling softly as a tear slid down her cheek, the droplet hot against her skin. She saw him sitting there, no conflicted, so enraged, ready to flip the table, possibly kill his own men. Quickly and without another thought she entered the room, standing straight and wiping at the wetness on her face.

"Mistah J," she proclaimed, taking the attention of all the men in the room. Furiously, he snapped his neck towards her, his eyes wide and manic.

"Harley, what the hell did I tell you-"

"I'll do it."

He made the motion to stand, but rapidly chose to remain in his seat, his lips parting as a soft breath left his mouth. "What?"

She smeared her knuckles over her cheek bone again, clearing the tears that continued to tenderly fall. "I'll do it. I'll be the bait."

His eyes narrowed towards her, however, his glare somber. "You better shut your fucking mouth and go back in the bedroom." As he pointed direly to the exit, she shook her head at him, folding her arms over her chest, while leaning her weight against her right hip.

"It's too late, I already heard everything. I said I'll be the bait. I'll do it. I'll do anything you ask."

"I ain't asked you anything," he barked at her. "Now leave before I make you."

Gingerly, she exhaled, tapping her foot with apprehension. "I ain't changing my mind. I'm doing it whether you like it or not."

His expression torn between a smile and a scowl, he leaned back against the seat, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. "What a day, everybody thinks they can say whatever the hell they want to me. Un-fucking-believable. Maybe I have gone soft after all." He continued to laugh, his eyes shutting in painful harmony, his palm hitting his forehead in his steadied hysteria.

She huffed, however, turning around and leaving the room, making sure to narrow her eyes towards Frost, briefly catching his startled stare.

"I'll take care of you later, Harley," she heard J howl at her, before reentering the bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She sat in the room in silence for an hour, softly sobbing as she held her knees against her chest. Her tears burned her skin as they fell mercilessly down her cheeks, sliding down the flesh of her neck and collar bone. Continuously she dabbed at her eyes, but nothing could help dry her face nor ease her mind. There was a sudden chilliness to the room, as she hunkered in the darkness, and when the door opened she wiped her face with the bottom of her shirt.

He stumbled in, and immediately she could smell his intoxication, scorching her nostrils, while he threw off his shirt, the bandage on his shoulder stained crimson.

She stood from the bed, going to embrace him, but he grabbed her shoulders firmly, pushing her away from him.

"Puddin, I-"

"Why the fuck do you do this to me?"

His voice was low, his words slurred. There was an unnatural shimmer to his eyes, a coat of tears glazed over them. His breath reeked of vodka, and felt like boiling steam hitting her face. Biting her lower lip, she looked up at him with trembling eyes, taking his hands in hers, squeezing them gently before he forcefully removed himself from her.

"This! You fuck with my head! My own men don't even respect me anymore! I'm making stupid choices because of you!"

She frowned at his words, her brows furrowing in distress. "I haven't done anything to you. All I've done is love you. I'd do anything for you!"

"I'm sick of you screwing things up, Harley," he exclaimed, taking her chin and lifting her face towards him, and lightly she held his wrist, her arms shaking from his grasp on her. "I'm sick of being compromised because of you!"

"Then fucking get rid of me!" she hissed back, more tears leaving her cheeks and wetting his fingers. "No one's forcing you to keep me. If I'm such a nuisance, why are you keeping me here?"

"Don't you understand what you've done to me?" He let her go, and she stumbled backwards as she regained her weight on the ground.

"I can't _stand_ the thought of you being with anyone else," he continued, grasping her shoulders once more, giving her a single manic shake. His eyes were consumed by redness, wide and alert and frenzied. "I want to burn the city just thinking about anybody but me touching that perfect body." As his hands slid down her waist she tensed, unable to breathe.

"Imagining you with anybody else makes me want to kill you," he whispered loudly, placing his palms over her cheeks, watching her weep and quiver as she attempted to keep her body perfectly still.

"You're so perfect," he breathed, and she felt fear creep into her body at his manic, drunk state. His touch was gentle yet simultaneously aggressive.

"Stop," she pleaded silently. "You're scaring me."

"Scaring you?" he repeated, and there he went on his knees, embracing her stomach. Her lips parting in disbelief, she found herself massaging the top of his head, his body shaking as he held her closely.

"Don't you know I'd do anything for you?" he cried, his cheek pressed against her, and her face distorted in anguish.

"J..."

"You've fucked me up, Harley. You destroyed me and now I can't live without you."

He kissed the fabric of her shirt over her navel, bowed before her at her mercy, holding her as if he were a child afraid to lose her. Repeatedly he kissed at her belly, burying his face in her shirt, continuing to feverishly tremble as he embraced her. She didn't know what to say to ease him, what she could possibly do to let him know what he felt for her wasn't a horrible, disgusting weakness. All this time as he had been manipulating her, she had been leaving her tender mark on him.

She had never thought she would see him break down like this, to hate himself so much over his feelings for her. As she rubbed the back of his neck, more tears slipped down her face, and she whimpered quietly, consumed by his warmth.

"I don't have a reason to live anymore, other than you," she spoke staidly. "I'll do whatever you ask me. And I won't bat an eye about it."

"I don't know what I want from you," he confessed. "I used to think I knew but I don't anymore."

"You have to let me do it, J," she continued calmly as he pressed his forehead against her stomach miserably. "You have to let me take the fall. It's the only way."

She felt him shake his head, however, his squeeze on her tightening.

"If I do that there's no going back. If they get you, I can't do anything to get you back."

She exhaled lightly, petting the top of his head. "I know."

"My reputation, my respect-"

"I know."

"You can't come and turn my life upside down and then do that, Harley. You just can't."

"I'm sorry, J. I'm so sorry for everything." And she pressed the back of his head against her, unable to control herself now, sobbing relentlessly, sorrow and love taking over her completely, the moment so beautiful yet so unfairly cruel.

She opened her eyes, however, when he lifted himself, picking her up in the process. And there she wrapped her legs around his hips, throwing her arms over his neck. And he began to kiss her, fervidly, fluidly, hungrily. Heaving through her nostrils, she moaned against him, her body melting with his, tasting the alcohol in his mouth, his breath flaring her skin, burning her flesh.

His mouth moved gracefully yet messily against her own, and he took her to the bed, placing her down. Arching her back, she elongated her neck as she felt him grasp the elastic of her underwear, feeling her wetness leak as he slid the garment down her thighs, past the length of her legs until it was completely off of her. His mouth pressed against her ankle, his lips wet, traveling up her shin, over her knee as she bent them, pushing his torso against the sheets as he grappled her thighs to open her legs.

His touch was so warm, his palms hot against her skin. And as she felt his mouth glide against her inner thigh, she closed her eyes and entangled her fingers in her own hair, fighting him to bring her knees together as he forcefully pulled them apart. It burned when he touched her, when his mouth pressed onto the damp center of her body, that she clenched from the heat, moaning lowly. His tongue caressed her, while he drank in her fluids, and feverishly he sucked onto the most pleasurable piece of her body, sending her into an eruption of mad convulsions, her center contracting around his tongue, while she grabbed the bed sheets harshly, digging her nails into the fabric.

"Oh God," she moaned, as her body exploded into a pure euphoric state, engulfing her in such a fiercely powerful orgasm that she thought she may die from it. She tried again to close her knees, unable to take any more of the intense feeling, but he continued to hold her legs apart, unrelenting, moving his mouth mercilessly over her delicate pulsing flesh. And the vigor flourished, growing more powerfully violent, that her whole body began to shake, controlled by her robust climax.

She screamed, in pure painful bliss, her back arched to its fullest extent, her thighs trembling, her center pulsating with pleasure, the feeling consuming her existence, filling every inch of her. She was breathing heavily, erratically, when he lifted his face and brought his mouth to hers, tasting herself as he kissed her, their fingers intertwining, her legs too weak to move underneath him. Their tongues smoothed together in a sensual dance, a light sigh fleeing her mouth as he kissed down her neck, grasping her breasts over her shirt, until his head nestled against her chest, where he remained there.

He didn't move for several moments. And eventually she heard the light rhythm of his breathing, his body relaxed on top her her. Heavily she breathed, delicately embracing him as he slept against her breasts, finally passed out from his intoxication. She remained there with him for a long moment, holding him while he slumbered, feeling her center continuing to pulsate from their maddening passion. Carefully, and with difficulty, she lifted him off of her, prying his hands off of her body, watching his form fall onto the bed, while he laid belly first, breathing with his mouth opened.

For a moment she paced the room, pressing her palms over her damp forehead in distress. She was still having trouble regaining her breathing, her heart beating fast and irregular. She went to their dresser and pulled out another pair of briefs, as well as leggings and a long sweater. Hastily she dressed herself, spotting the handgun on the nightstand, licking her lips as she took it, stuffing it in her handbag and left the room, closing the door behind her. As she walked towards the main room quietly she pulled her phone from her bag, seeing it was now three in the morning. In the darkness she remained, the glow of her phone the only source of light. Her heart palpitating, she clicked on one of two names in her contacts, anxiously placing the phone by her ear as it rang three times.

"Jonny? It's Harley. I need you to pick me up right now."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

It felt like she was in high school, sneaking off with her boyfriend as she climbed awkwardly into his tall vehicle. He was quick to drive away, the engine humming as they left the vicinity and entered into the quiet side streets of Gotham.

She refused to look at him, still angry, but he kept shooting glances her way.

"You know, the Boss would kill me if he knew I was doing this."

"Good. I'll be sure to let him know." She heard him sigh at her remark, and there she turned her head and glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why'd you agree to do it, anyway? Why'd you come pick me up?"

"I figured Boss might have roughed you up a bit and you needed to get some air." It bothered her that there was a lack of concern in his voice.

"He didn't rough me up," she shot back. "Does it look like he hit me?"

He looked at her once more, this time greeting her glare. "No. You actually look really flushed. Like you just got the best head of your life or something." Chuckling at his comment, he smirked as he focused his gaze back on the road, while Harley's cheeks tinted a deep crimson red, shifting her stare away from him.

"Hey Jonny," she began, an eerie neutrality taking over her. "Remember when I said we were gona be best friends?"

"Yea?"

"I changed my mind. I hope you choke on a fucking popsicle."

A grunt evaded his throat, and from the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head at her. "You can't take it personally, Harley."

"I can't take it personally?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes at him. "You offered to feed me to the sharks!"

"This is a business, and I have to think like a businessman. You'll understand one day."

"No, actually Jonny, you work for Mistah J. And now I'm Misses J. So you technically work for me now, too."

He chuckled at her theory. "I don't think it works that way."

"It does work that way. And I'm sure Mistah J would agree with me, too."

There was a long moment of silence, and Harley looked out the window and observed the dark city. She frowned as he ventured over the tree lined streets, concealing the moonlight and the stars.

"Why don't we go on the main roads?" she asked him, leaning her cheek against her palm as she gazed out the window.

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"We really don't want to bring too much attention to ourselves right now."

She rolled her eyes. "You are the complete opposite of Mistah J."

"I'd like to think we balance each other out."

She paused. "Will you just go on the main road?"

She saw his face distort in an intrigued bewilderment. "How come?"

"I just want to, that's why."

"I think it's time we turn back. Before J wakes up and starts wondering where you are."

"He's passed out drunk. He ain't waking up anytime soon." She was beginning to grow anxious, and he could feel her apprehension emitting onto him.

"Come on, Jonny. You're so fucking boring."

He stopped harshly at a stop sign, the car jolting from the impact. As her body flung forward, Harley grunted, holding onto the car door to maintain herself. Her eyes burned through Frost as she glowered at him, the blue in her irises shimmering.

"I'm taking you back, Harley. This rendezvous is over." He didn't even look at her as he took a left turn, and there she scowled at him, reaching into her purse and pulling out the hand gun. She aimed it directly towards him.

He stopped the car again and looked at her with absolute bafflement, slamming his palm against his forehead.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Harley?"

"Get on the main road, Jonny!" she squealed at him. Though the weapon pointed at his head, he acted rather calmly, sighing as he shook his head at her.

"Seriously?" he asked. adjusting the collar of his shirt.

"I'm fucking serious, Jonny!"

"What do you think you're planning on doing, huh?"

"I'm gona be the mother fucking bait, that's what!" She shook the gun to emphasize her point, but Jonny exhaled loudly.

"It's past three in the morning on a Friday. Ain't nobody looking for you now."

"Stop being a jackass and get in the main road. I want you to drop me off at the shadiest bar you can find."

"Are you trying to get the both of us killed?" he asked, tapping the gun and lowering it for her. "Let me just take you back and you get some sleep. You're losing it right now."

Her mouth fell agape as she looked down at the firearm he so casually touched. Licking her lips, she raised it again, pulling the trigger and sending a shot into the window of his driver's side. The blast was loud and unexpected, sending him leaning back, a gasp stifled in his throat.

"Harley!"

"See? I'm fucking serious!" She raised the gun again, pressing it against his temple. "Now drive!"

He hesitated for a moment, blinking several times, scratching at the hair of his beard. "God, you are just asking for trouble."

She dug the gun further into his skull, and he sighed, sounding more annoyed than scared. "Move it, Frost!"

"Whatever you say, Misses J," he mused, pressing onto the gas, the engine revving obnoxiously as he sped down the streets. Triumphantly, she smiled, as the cool damp air from the outside crept in the car from the bullet hole in the window. And soon the trees were replaced with lights and the commotion of people, the smell of gasoline, cigarettes, and and alcohol creeping into the vehicle. And there she urged him to stop, spotting a bar where she decided she would leave her mark.

"Stop the car."

He noticed where her gaze rested and shook his head. "Hell no, Harley. There's no way I'm letting you inside that seedy place."

"Stop the God damn car!" she shouted, her voice screeching, holding the gun with both trembling hands. She looked manic now, and as he saw her graze he trigger he pressed on the brakes, stopping the car abruptly, resulting in furious honking from cars behind him.

Opening the door, she hopped out of the black Hummer, landing clumsily on her feet, and she found herself running, passed the street, pushing through the party goers loitering the sidewalk, finding her way to the entrance of the building. In broken lights flickered the words "Red Admiral," a bouncer lazily stood outside, his face focused on his phone as he wore sunglasses over his angular face. She walked by him and he grabbed her arm, startling her, to which she spun around and lifted the gun to his face. Just like Jonny, he seemed rather calm by her performance, raising his sunglasses to reveal almost black colored eyes.

"Relax, lady. I was gona ask you for some ID."

She threw the gun into her hand bag, taking short controlled breaths. "I don't got none." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that a problem?"

He shrugged his shoulders at her, however, pressing his shades back against his nose, resuming his chill posture against the wall of the building. "I ain't seen nothing, baby."

She didn't question his silence, but instead walked inside the crowded bar. The venue was loud and there was some sort of music humming in the background but it was barely audible over the chorus of voices. The inside was painted a dull brown, the floors made of wood. The clientele seemed to be made up of drug addicts, drunks, and prostitutes. As she stood aimlessly for a moment, observing her surroundings and how much she stuck out, Harley felt her chest sink, a sudden heaviness overtake her. Timidly she approached the bar, taking a seat on the stool, observing the mural of drinks behind the counter. She rubbed at her nose nervously, holding her bag securely against her.

She wondered then what was she doing here? What was her plan? Was the mob supposed to randomly find her? And if they did, then what? They'd kill her? Take her hostage? Do unthinkable things to her? And how was that supposed to help J?

She did not think this through. And as she buried her face into her palms, she sighed, suddenly wishing she was magically back home with J.

"What'll ya have, beautiful?"

She had to blink twice to to focus on the sudden image of the bartender before her. He was an older gentleman and dressed in a white button up shirt and slacks, grey blending into his black hair as he wiped down a glass with a towel.

"I uh, I'll have-"

"A shot of tequila, straight. For the lady."

When she felt a body pull up a seat next to her, his familiar voice ringing through her ears, she groaned miserably, rolling her eyes dramatically. Turning her head, she was faced with Frost, an amused yet solemn expression decorating his face.

"Fuck a duck," she moaned. "I thought I lost you."

She looked at the shot glass uninterested as the bartender placed it sloppily before her, droplets of the liquid spilling onto the counter.

"Did you really think I was just gona leave you here?"

"I was hoping so," she spoke with a hint of sarcasm, lifting both her brows. "This was a big fucking mistake anyway."

"Yea, no shit." He flagged down the bartender. "I'll take a scotch on the rocks."

"I don't even like tequila, you know," she grumbled, picking up the drink as she fumbled her lips with displeasure.

Almost immediately, he was handed is glass, and he held it up before Harley as if it were a peace treaty. "Cheers," he smirked.

She sighed, nodding her head as she tapped her glass against his. In one painful gulp, she downed the bitter drink, her face squishing in disgust as the liquid hit her taste buds. Jonny guzzled the scotch with ease.

"So what was your plan, Harley?" he said with a chuckle, leaning his weight onto the bar. "You thought someone from the mob would magically be here? Find you and then what?"

"Shut up, Jonny."

"It's cute, actually. You trying to prove yourself to the Boss."

There was a nervous twitch to her brow. "I ain't trying to be cute! You know what kind of day I've had? First we bust an auction, I nearly get taken by the Batman, then the mob shoots up the club, I find out you guys want to throw me at the mafia, then J gets all emotional and acts like I'm the center of his universe. And now here I am in this dump. With you. And I don't even have the satisfaction of being drunk."

Frost watched her with interest, observing her composed, yet distressed, state.

"You should be proud, you know. You're the first person to break him."

She rolled her eyes. "Yea, I'm real fucking proud. I'm on the fucking honor roll."

Harley noticed Frost repeatedly looking down at his phone, a short sigh of relief fleeing his nostrils. "You don't have to worry. He's passed out stone cold. He ain't waking up for hours," she assured him.

"I think we should be heading out now. Only drunks are lunatics are out at this hour."

"All the more reason to stay," she beamed.

"No, _not_ a good reason to stay."

She ignored him, however, slamming her glass on the table to signal the bartender. "I want a martini please!"

Frost rested a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Harley. Seriously."

"One more drink won't hurt." She looked over at him. "What are you havin'?"

His head cocked to the side, an aggravated fumble to his lips.

"Bring the gentleman a mojito!" She exclaimed.

"Are you insane? I don't drink mojitos. I have a reputation to uphold." He adjusted his black blazer, flipping the collar as if to prove some sort of point.

She batted her eyelashes towards him, however, leaning her cheek against her palm innocently. "None of that matters when you're dead."

When the bartender placed the slender martini glass before her, she squealed, clasping her hands together as her eyes sparkled majestically, gazing at the cerulean blue liquid.

"Here you go, sweetheart. I made it so it matched your hair."

Johnny sighed as the leafy glass was placed before him, rubbing at his forehead anxiously.

"Ok, Harley. Last drink and we're done. Got it?"

She avoided him, however, too transfixed in her drink, taking the glass with both hands and sipping at it graciously. As she pulled her mouth away, her eyes rolled back into her head. "It tastes like raspberries."

"If you like this shithole so much, you should ask the boss to take you to this other place down the street. They'll make you as many of those fruity drinks as you want."

She blushed, a haziness taking over her eyes. She didn't say much after that, but silently sipped at her drink, her mind suddenly flooded with thoughts of J, her stomach hit with painful pangs and arduous fluttering. Her skin tingled at the memory of his touch, her heart skipped a beat as she recalled how he held her so affectionately, so afraid to lose her.

"Jonny."

"Yea?"

"How many people have you killed?"

He paused at her question. "I don't know. I don't keep tabs."

"You know Mistah J has a room filled with knives?"

"Yes, I'm aware."

Leaning her weight against the bar, she looked at him curiously. "What's the deal with that?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him?"

Shifting her head towards her shoulder, she sighed. "There's gotta be a specific reason Mistah J keeps you around. You got any special talents?"

"I got plenty of talents."

"Like?"

"What's with the fifty questions, Harley? What about you? Do you have any talents?"

For the first time, she saw him sip at the mojito. And at his question, she smiled. He swiftly looked away from her, and she swore she caught a tint of a blush to his cheeks.

"Forget I asked."

Feeling herself get warm, she stepped off her stool, grabbing her purse. "I'll be right back. Going to the bathroom."

He made the motion to follow her, but she shot him a knowing glance. "I don't think you can come with me, Jonny." His lips shifted uneasily as he watched her walk away.

She stumbled as she pushed through the crowd of people, a slight dizziness taking over her, her vision compromised, her head feeling daintily light. As she found the bathroom, she latched onto the single sink, running cold water and splashing it on her face, feeling it mix with the sweat that trickled over her forehead. She glowered at her reflection in the mirror, noticing her hair was still wet and tangled, face void of makeup. Her sweater hung loosely over her shoulder, while her chest expanded and released noticeably underneath her covering.

She must have been standing there for a while, lost in her thoughts and her own reflection, for she was interrupted by a tap to her shoulder, looking to see ridiculously long fake nails, then the form of an overly made-up woman, adorned in heels and a mini skirt, her brown hair curled and tucked behind her shoulders.

"You think you're finished yet?" she asked, with a Brooklyn accent thicker than Harley's.

She frowned. "What's your problem, lady?"

"You're making love to the mirror, that's my problem. And some of us need to use it."

Rolling her eyes, she threw water onto her face one more time, allowing the wetness to drip freely down her flesh. "Ever think to ask nicely? You never know when someone's having a bad day."

"I'm going to have a bad day if I get into my boyfriend's car looking like shit," she shot back at her.

"Sorry, toots, nobody can help you there." And Harley laughed at her own cleverness, shutting off the water, an uncomfortable silence filling the bathroom.

She was surprised when the woman grabbed her shoulder, turning her around to face her. "I recognize you from somewhere." She squinted her eyes and observed her face. However, Harley shook her off, grabbing her bag to leave. "The mirror's all your's."

"Oh my God," she huffed, grabbing at her arm before she could exit. "You're that crazy chick from the news! The one that's been robbing all those banks."

Harley sighed deeply, a melodramatic roll to her eyes, rubbing at her temple with her fingers. "You're crazy lady."

"Fuck this shit, I'm calling the cops."

Harley didn't know what came over her as she witnessed the woman reach into her bag and pull out her phone. All she could think about was the rotten day she was having, and there was no way in hell this woman-this idiotic stranger-was going to add more fuel to the fire. With a loud, exasperated grunt, she pulled out her gun, and before the lady could even respond, she aimed the firearm directly at her head and shot her, between her eyes, seeing the life leave her body as she hit the ground, her phone clanging onto the metal floor as it hit beside her.

Now she panicked, realizing her rash actions, and hastily she tucked her gun into her bag, hurriedly leaving the bathroom. It was as if no one even noticed the sound of the gun firing, even though it was loud and echoed in the bathroom majestically. Perhaps everyone was too drunk, too consumed in themselves, or maybe it was something that was normal for the venue, not too out of the ordinary. But sooner or later someone would discover the body, and she wanted to make sure she was far away before that happened.

She felt free, liberated, as if this moment was her rite of passage. A gentle elation permeated her chest, filling her with a sense of power that was still new to her. There was no regret, no shame, no torment. All she knew was that bitch had it coming. And she was having a pretty bad fucking day.

She found Jonny and pulled at his arm, urging him to leave. "We have to go. Right now."

Steadily lowering himself from his seat, he narrowed his eyes at her. "What did you do?"

"I shot a lady."

He scrunched his face in disbelief. "What? Is she dead?"

"Of course she's dead. Shoot to kill, remember?"

Grunting, he shook his head at her, grabbing her hand as he lead her towards the exit. "God, Harley. Can't you stay out of trouble tonight? You were gone five fucking minutes!"

Through the windows she saw his car parked in front of the building, adorned with the fresh bullet hole in his driver's side window. As she watched him pull out his keys, he held his car fob, pointing at the vehicle as he pressed the button to start the engine. But something was wrong, very wrong. A feeling of foreboding crawled over her skin, for she saw a face she identified, one that grabbed her attention immediately and caused her eyes to widen in pure fear. She felt any color in her flesh drain, blocking out any other noise except for the sound of her breathing, while her heart pounded within her chest.

She went to grab the fob from Frost, but he had already pressed and held it down, and as the engine started, it was immediately followed by a massive explosion, the car self destructing and its debris breaking through the glass and walls of the bar. She didn't remember much from that moment, as the muffled screams of the customers faded into nothing, her body flown onto the ground as she felt burns and cuts graze her skin. She could hear Jonny calling her name, but it sounded so distant, so desperately hazy. Soon, all she could see was blackness, slowly losing consciousness as she, too, fell into the nothingness. Surrounded by heat and flames, yet only seeing blackness. It felt like she was bathing in boiling water.

And the last thing she felt was cold metal hit against the temple of her head, her body being lifted until she fully delivered herself to the nothingness.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

She found her disruption from the blackness in the form of a crude awakening. As her head hit the glove compartment of a vehicle, she grunted loudly, her eyes opening to blurred vision. Trying to move, she realized she was being held in the strong arms of someone who refused to let her go. And as soon as they were in and the door slammed shut, the car sped away obnoxiously, in a manner that was too familiar to her.

Turning her head, her view steadied, the vision before her becoming sharp and clear. Her lips parted when she saw J, his eyes blood shot and lips pursed together in absolute frustration. He had messily thrown on a shirt and buttoned it up halfway, unevenly. She could still smell the alcohol that reeked from him.

At first she was elated, and she had forgotten what had even happened. Just to open her eyes and see him there made her heart flutter, her stomach feel hollow. She went to move again but was held back. And when she noticed she was sitting on Frost's lap in the passenger's seat, she hissed at him, struggling to free herself, pulling her arms, fidgeting her legs.

"Jonny, you called J you fucking nark?!"

Turning her neck, she glared at him, noticing the cuts on his face, his hair disheveled. He looked like a tousled mess. He frowned at her however, his grip on her arms tightening.

"I'm asleep for two fucking hours," J finally spoke, his voice loud and intimidating, filling the entire car. "And the two of you manage to blow up an entire street."

The redness in his eyes was painful to look at as he snapped his neck in their direction, fuming through his nostrils. Whatever momentary happiness she felt was replaced by dismay and anxiety, as she found herself biting down on her bottom lip.

"Puddin, it's not what it looks like," she tried to explain, but he looked away from her and back to the road, a growl buzzing in his throat.

"It ain't what it looks like? You and Frost sneaking out and getting the car blown up ain't what it looks like?"

"Boss, she tricked me. Held me at gun point. I-"

Harley cut him off as she elbowed him in the face, a fervor filling her belly. "Shut up, Jonny! You ain't helping!"

"That car was on company dollar, Frost. And you had all ya fucking guns and bombs in there too, practically torched the entire block. Like we really need the police hot on our trail right now."

His calm and collected position made her feel uncomfortable, from his controlled breaths, to his quiet focus on the road. She knew it meant she would feel the majority of his wrath later, could feel him ticking next to her, his concealed vehement energy radiating throughout the car. He was a bomb ready to go off at any moment.

"By the time I'm finished with the two of you, you're both gona wish you died in that explosion."

"I saw him, Puddin!" Harley cried, struggling in Frost's grasp once more. "I saw Angelo. He rigged the car."

"No fucking shit he rigged the car. Ain't nobody questioning that."

"I saw him and after I was knocked out I felt a gun against my head." Her voice softened. "I thought he took me."

"That was debris from the car, hit you against the head and knocked you out."

She frowned at Frost's voice of reasoning, her body tensing at his strong, unrelenting hold on her. "Puddin, I was so scared. I'm so sorry."

"Don't fucking talk to me, Harley," J spat coldly, keeping his stare away from her. "I am so pissed off right now. I don't even know what I want to do to the two of you yet." He paused, grinding his teeth as a heavy, unnecessarily loud sigh fled his nostrils.

"Frost, you are officially demoted."

The statement took Jonny off guard. "What?"

"You fucking heard me! You are demoted. Hunter's taking your place."

"Boss, you can't be serious."

"I am dead fucking serious. This is the biggest screw up of your life. Picking up Harley behind my back, blowing up the car and nearly getting her killed? You're lucky I'm only considering putting you in the panda suit."

"Hunter is a fucking idiot, Boss!"

"Apparently not as big of an idiot as you."

Harley felt guilt creep up in her chest, mingling with the fear and excitement that lingered there. "Puddin, don't be so hard on Jonny. It's all my fault."

"Oh, I ain't doubting you're the ring leader of this act," he huffed, his voice low and raspy. "I'll deal with you when we get inside."

She shivered at his promise, as his eyes left the road and scanned her carefully, a perverse dimple creasing at his cheek. "I'm really sorry," she attempted to apologize again, no longer fighting Frost's grip on her. "I only wanted to help you."

J didn't speak for the rest of the ride, a grave, uneasy silence consuming the car. She felt her senses heighten at the lack of sound, her nose tingling as she smelled the crisp clean leathers of the seats, Jonny's cold grasp on her arms, while her body perspired from a unexplained heat that consumed her. And finally, as she settled down and became more observant, only then did it hit her-the horrible, wretched pain. The temples of her head pounding, pulsing through her skin, the cuts on her body exposed to the air and burning, flaring on her flesh. She could taste the fresh warm blood in her mouth, gooey against her tongue as it leaked from the inside of her cheek.

And as J parked the car and the doors unlocked, she pushed against Jonny to let herself out, stumbling while she took her first steps since the blast. But spots of blackness compromised her vision, and she found herself losing balance, stammering onto the ground, feeling the wet gravel brush against her raw lesions. But she was too weak to get up on her own, though she tried to fight it, tried desperately to show him she was strong enough, tough enough to fight whatever discourse that came her way. But at that moment she was too weak, and before she could argue she felt him lift her off the ground, taking her in his arms.

She didn't protest, didn't budge, but limply allowed him to hold her, resting her head against his neck, while his hands secured the back of her knees and spine. And as she closed her eyes, allowing her lids to droop peacefully for a moment, she imagined a different reality, feeling like a new bride, being carried to a beautiful new life.

She inhaled him, lusciously breathing in the remainder of his cologne, the wonderful scent and his heat warming her nose. Sloppily, her arms held his neck for additional support, as he took her inside, turning on the lights, forcing her to shut her eyes even further from the brightness. She could hear him talking to Frost, their voices low, as if not to disturb her, unable to unravel what they were saying and too exhausted to attempt it.

The smell of their bedroom consumed her, it was such a distinct smell of cologne and perfume and sex. And how grateful she was to be greeted by that essence, as it graciously filled her nostrils, warming her chest, and she felt so happy to be home, and in his arms and finally able to close her eyes without being afraid.

Yet, as they were alone, she felt his body tense, that ravenous enraged aura returning-the one that came sporadically from him whenever she acted out, the part about him that completely terrified her. As the door closed behind them softly, it was unleashed, her eyes striking open as he threw her onto the bed, the room still dark, the silhouette of his body appearing brooding and haunting.

And immediately did he grab her shoulders, holding her with a controlled, alert steadiness. His eyes were like blue crystals, encircled with red bulging blood vessels. And even in his rage, she was entranced by him, her breath light as her lips parted, transfixed in the hue of his eyes, the warmth of his breath hitting her skin. He always looked so good in the darkness, the shadows tracing the most perfect parts of his body, revealing the deep emotion in his face. His eyes were somber, sunken, so deep she could drown in them, while his lips were naturally dark, the shadows amplifying his cheekbones and jaw line, enhancing the curve of the musculature that peaked from his shirt.

She knew he was going to hit her, and she prepared herself for it. She didn't realize that she moaned when his palm struck her cheek, with a swift fierceness, the sound of the pummel echoing the room. It hurt like she didn't imagine, mixing with the pain from the injuries sustained from the explosion, her head still spinning and now becoming more incoherent from his roughness.

He hit her again and she cringed, harder than before. And there was no moment of rest as he thrashed the opposing side of her face, jarring her head until she felt her bottom lip split, felt her cheekbones pulsate, spasming from the pain he inflicted onto her. She didn't fight him, however, did not try to dodge his blows, beg for his mercy, attempt anything to spare herself of his harshness.

Concealing whimpers, she took her punishment, several tears sneaking out from her eyes and rolling slowly down her cheeks. It felt like acid scorching over her raw skin. But there was a moment where he stopped hitting her, for reasons she did not know, yet she didn't hesitate to throw herself onto him, entangling her arms over his neck, holding him against her as if her were her savior, her body trembling fiercely.

And she sighed peacefully when she felt him return her embrace, his arms circling her waist.

"I thought I was never gona wake up," she whispered shakily, squeezing him tighter. "And if I did, I thought I wasn't ever gona see you again."

"You're a fucking idiot," he breathed against her ear, stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry I can't stop making trouble."

He didn't respond, however, as he placed her back down onto the bed, pressing his weight on her lightly. She found herself fidgeting underneath him, could feel his excitement press against her groin, while his hands sleeked over her waist. As his mouth took hers, the back of her head delved deep into the mattress, her back arching delicately. He felt like velvet smoothing over her lips, drinking the blood that leaked from her mouth and lip. They kissed repeatedly, slowly, yet when her hands ventured lower towards his hips, gripping at the hem of his pants, he was quick to detach himself from her, grabbing roughly at her wrist, resulting in a light moan to leave her throat.

"We ain't doing that," he scolded her in a hushed tone.

"Why not?"

"Because Frost is here."

"I'll be quiet," she promised. He rolled his eyes at her, however, holding both her wrists now, as he plummeted his mouth back down onto hers, kissing her deeply. Giggling against his lips, she hummed pleasantly as he kissed her, lazily bending her knees, rubbing herself against the stiffness at the center of his body. She watched him pull away from her, briefly, eyeing the end of her sweater. She extended her arms for him as he lifted the garment off her body, and as he seemed ready to devour her once more, he stalled, observing her torso, his brow bones furrowing in what oddly appeared to be anguish.

She knew whatever he was staring at had to be as bad as how it felt. As the cuts were exposed to air, they throbbed painfully, pulsing over her skin as if they were alive. She didn't know the extent of her bruising, except for how tender her ribs felt.

"You look like an eggplant." He frowned.

"Everything hurts," she confessed, her voice in a whisper as her eyes began to water.

"That's what you get for pulling that ridiculous stunt."

She was startled when he repositioned himself slightly, locked against her knees, his hands grazing her hips bones as he trailed his mouth over her navel.

She was so exhausted and her eyelids so relentlessly heavy, but he felt so good that she was forced to remain alert and awake, sighing heavily as he perched wet, messy kisses on her stomach, traveling upwards over her rib cage.

"I wanted to help you," she finally replied dreamily.

"You did a horrible fucking job."

When he lifted her back to unclasp her bra, she felt her breath remained trapped within her chest. She was able to exhale once her breasts were freed from her restraints, the chill of the room causing her nipples to instantaneously pucker. And when she felt his hot, moist mouth take in one of her rosy peaks, she gasped sharply, overtaken by pleasure, feeling the heat of his breath on her breast as he exhaled loudly through his nostrils.

He sent her into a brief episode of ecstasy, as he sucked and slid his tongue generously over her nipple, her palms smoothing over the shirt on his back, trying to keep her promise of remaining silent but unable to conceal the blissful sighs fleeing from her throat.

"Puddin," she found herself moaning, her eyes slowly closing. "What's gona happen now?"

Painfully and wonderfully slowly, his mouth let go of her nipple, his tongue grazing the erect gland once more before he lifted his gaze to her. His eyes were suddenly dark, foreboding, sending a lethargic chill down the bones of her spine.

"You're gona stay out of it. I will take care of it." He pressed his lips against her neck, breathing fire onto her skin. "If you try anything else, I promise I won't be so gentle next time."

As if to warn her, he bit the side of her neck and she flinched, her eyes opening widely.

And there he removed himself from her body, sitting up as he discarded his shirts, unbuttoning his pants. Her eyes grew heavy once more, unable to move from her current position, allowing her lids to slowly close as she felt his body lay down next to her. With the last of her strength, she shifted herself so that she bundled against him, her head pressed onto his chest, feeling his solid arms envelope her before she drifted into a deep, bitter slumber.

~oOo~

As she opened her eyes, she felt nothing but pure pain. From her head down to her shins, every inch of her body burned in torment. Her head felt heavy as she lifted herself off the bed, her muscles contracting at every movement. She was initially startled to find herself shirtless, protectively hugging her breasts, and noticed one was particularly more sensitive than the other. And there memories from the previous night enlightened her mind, and she remembered every excruciating and even wonderful detail.

Seeing she was alone in the room, she stood carefully, every step she took agonizing but manageable. As she entered the bathroom, she gazed at her reflection, feeling her stomach churn at the sight of her herself. Her hair disarrayed, her jaw swollen and tinted purple, blood crusted over her bottom lip. While cuts and deep, almost black bruises painted at her ribs. The majority of the work on her face was courtesy of J, as she recalled his hand relentless beating her. And even at the solemn reverie she found herself missing him. And then she found herself suspicious.

She showered quickly, groaning as she removed her torn leggings and discovered long, scabbing cuts down her legs. The water felt pungent as it sprinkled over her injuries, wanting to moan from the pain but keeping her reactions hidden. She didn't dry her hair as she stepped out, allowing it to hang wet and drip down her body and onto the floor as she threw on a tee shirt and shorts, relieved to find her small purse on a dresser in the bedroom. As she opened it, she discovered her phone was there but the gun was gone, a sigh heaving her throat.

As she left the room, she held her phone casually, surprised to see one text from J. His first text to her.

 _Stay out of trouble_.

Lifting her eyes from the screen, she stared into the main room, observing Hunter sitting by himself at the couch, his focus consumed by his tablet. Per usual, he was dressed finely and handsomely, his collar crisp under his black pressed blazer, a shine to his brown hair as it was glossed back. His leg was crossed over his knee, a hunch to his shoulders. She saw him lick his lips in concentration.

She approached him gingerly, that he wasn't even initially aware of her presence. Not until she plopped herself next to him, sitting a little too closely for his comfort.

He pulled his attention away from the tablet, looking at her suspiciously from the corner of his eyes.

"Hey Hunter...How's it going?"

As she pressed her knees together, patting her thighs, she leaned even closer, glancing at his center of attention.

"Hi Miss Harley..." He paused, actually scooting away from her. "I'm fine."

"What ya doing? Playing games?"

Again, she shifted her weight closer to him.

"What's going on here?"

She batted her lashes, feigning innocence. "Nothing. Just wondering where Mistah J went." Her eyes scanned the room, waiting for his answer.

"He's at a job."

"Oh...and you're here?"

"I'm keeping an eye on you. I heard about the stunt you pulled last night."

She found a frown tugging at her lips, watching fumble with his tablet, barely even looking at her. "I hear you got a promotion. Congrats."

"Thanks."

"Just think it's kind of funny you got the promotion, but he's got ya babysitting me. When Frost and Drake are out on the job with him." With a shrug of her shoulder, she tapped a finger at her mouth. "Very weird."

There he put the ipad down on his lap, shifting his gaze towards her, cocking his head to the side. "I ain't stupid, Harley. We ain't going no where. The Boss told me to make sure you behaved. That you would try something like this."

"Like what?"

He motioned with his hands at her frame. "Using ya girly charms to try to get me to break. What are you trying to do, get all of us guys killed?"

"I ain't trying to do nothing," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just wondering where J is, that's all."

"Well, you ain't finding out."

Her lips fumbling with impatience, an aggravated grunt left her throat, and she could hear him beginning to play again, ignoring her as she continued to sit next to him. There she realized there was only one way to get him to give her the information she needed.

Without a word, she pulled the tablet from his hands, throwing it onto the table. Narrowing his eyes at her, he opened his mouth to question her but she was quick to place herself on his lap, straddling his hips as she locked her knees onto him. The color drained from his face, his body freezing at her contact.

"Harley, what the hell!"

And without warning, she took his head and pressed his face firmly against her chest, extending her arm that held her phone, the flash igniting as she took a picture of their current position. She squealed when she felt his hands grab her waist and lift her off of him, throwing her down onto the couch. The crazed bewilderment on his face was an amused sight to witness, and she looked down at the image on her phone triumphantly, running a hand through her wet hair.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Harley?"

"Take me to J or I'm sending him this picture!"

She pointed the screen in his face, and he gasped sharply. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh I would! I'll send it and tell him ya couldn't keep ya paws off me!" She ran her palms over her breasts to emphasize her point, her phone still dangerously clutched in her grasp. He made the motion to grab the device from her but she dodged him, springing to her feet.

"You really are insane, you know that?" he grunted, burying his face in his palms, as if he were considering her blackmail.

Shifting her weight onto her hip, she began to freely tap at her phone. "Puddin, I'm so sorry. Hunter just tried to kiss me. He touched what was yours," she spoke steadily aloud, giving a final glare at Hunter.

Heavily, he sighed, leaning his head back against he couch. "Well there goes that promotion."

"It wasn't real anyway," she beamed happily, skipping into the bedroom to get dressed.

~oOo~

"Holy fucking shit."

Both Hunter and Harley's mouths parted at the sight before them, as they sat in his black Mercedes, the car slowing down as he scanned the area. It had reached early into the evening, and she had dressed herself into her now iconic outfit, her hair till wet and thrown into two high, messy ponytails, while red lipstick sloppily stained her lips, her eyeshadow running down her cheek bones. She found herself laying low as they drove past the scene, sinking into her seat, lowering her body as much as she could to conceal herself.

He had taken her towards Angelo's home, in the only Italian neighborhood in Gotham. But they couldn't reach the dwelling as there were cops surrounding the vicinity, and continuous heavy smoke flowing mercilessly from the destructed building. It was a masterpiece that only could have been done by J, and as she gazed at the scene in the distance, it almost looked beautiful, like a painting, mesmerizing her. Parking at the end of the block, the both of them continued to stare in horror and fascination at the demolished sight, until Harley slowly turned her head towards Hunter.

"You think Mistah J got him?"

He hesitated, rubbing at his clean shaven chin. "I'm...not sure."

"It doesn't look like he's here anymore. Where do you think he went?"

"Well, there was one other place they were talking about going to."

"And where's that?"

He shifted his lips uncomfortably, as the sun slowly crept away, turning the skies an almost sinister, solemn shade of red.

"He would kill me if I took ya there."

"He'll kill you if he sees that photo of us," she shot back, pointing at the slender device in her clutches. Loudly and dramatically he exhaled, changing gears as he grabbed the clutch of his car. They didn't speak as he drove, and she found herself dominated by her thoughts, her mind replaying the memory of the explosion from last night, then witnessing J's recent retaliation. It was a war no one was winning, and she wondered if it could even be won. How many people needed to die before there was a victor? When would this desperately grim game cease? Is this what it meant to truly be in the mob life, to never be finished with business, to always look over your shoulder, to never stop getting even?

She knew J had one solid goal in mind. He was going to kill Angelo, but not without absolutely destroying his life first. And he seemed to beautifully succeed, but it appeared Angelo would not go down without a fight, determined to inflict similar pain onto him.

And he had found the one thing J truly cared about, with the only tiny pumping morsel of his black heart.

"Miss Harley, I don't think he's here. His car isn't in the back."

She was shaken by her thoughts at the sound of Hunter's voice, blinking feverishly to process where he had positioned his car. She found herself staring at a large, seemingly abandoned building. The place looked old and unused for decades, windows broken and overall architecture falling apart. And dismally the sun was setting, the red slowly being replaced by a creeping darkness.

"What the fuck is this?" she asked, straightening her back.

"It's an old toy factory. This is where he keeps his lab."

"They make meth, _here_?"

"It appears so."

Moving loose strands of blonde hair away from her face, she glanced at the gun peaking out of Hunter's holster, pressing her lips together firmly. "And Mistah J ain't here?"

"No, I drove around the back but nobody's there."

She found herself becoming emotional. "Then where the hell is he then?"

She observed him, begin to release his foot from the brake, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "I don't know. He didn't mention anything else. I think we really need to go now, Miss Harley. Before we get into any trouble."

Vehemently, however, she shook her head, unbuckling her seat belt. "I'm going inside."

As his eyes narrowed at her, he grabbed her wrist before she could open the door. "Are you nuts? You're not going in there."

She thrashed her phone against the side of his head however, with all the power she could muster, and in the brief moment he was stunned by her action, she grabbed the gun from his waist, kicking the door open as she marched towards the entrance.

"Harley! God damn it!"

She heard him turn off the engine, as well as scrummage out of the vehicle, opening the trunk and grabbing a machine gun as he darted after her. As she held the gun firmly in both hands, she entered into the building, unable to absorb much in her first steps, to take in he eerie peaceful atmosphere. She immediately observed the rows of abandoned tables and work stations, busted lights hanging on top of them. She could feel the greyness of her surroundings, the color voiding her of any comfort or ease. For, as she gripped the gun securely, hearing Hunter's frantic running inching nearer, her finger readied over the trigger; and she was met with a harsh, reverberating blow to the back of her head, causing her to lose her vision, her mind, her consciousness.

And again she felt the cold metal against her temple, digging into her skin, as she blacked out.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

As her eyes fluttered open, her vision was blurred, yet as her sight came into focus, there was a simultaneous pounding to her skull. A light groan hummed in her throat as her surrounds slowly came into focus.

She first felt the chill of the room down her spine, a shiver trembling at her legs. Then the smell of harsh chemicals tickling at her nose, forcing her to hold back a sneeze. The ambiance of the room was gloomy, a blue tint to her surroundings, but she couldn't figure out where she was yet, her head still throbbing, her eye lids weak to fully lift open, and her mind too tired to be fully alert.

Several times she blinked, to give moisture to her eyes, easing the dryness. And the first thing she noticed in her line of vision was Hunter.

At first she felt the soothing feeling of relief engulf her, and she made the motion to move. But yet, she found herself trapped in her seat, forcing her to fully wake up and take heed of her surroundings. As she struggled, she realized she was bound to a chair, her waist tied at the seat, while her wrists where secured behind the back rest of the chair.

"Have a nice nap?" Hunter whispered, crossing his legs rather casually in his own seat. She scowled at him, opening her mouth to demand to be untied, yet she noticed he was tied as well, sitting only a few feet across from her. Her eyes widening, she turned her neck sharply in all directions, a sense of trepidation tugging at her chest, her breath fleeing from her windpipes.

"Where...where are we?" she whispered lowly, catching Hunter's gaze. "What the hell happened?"

"Well, you ran inside, I followed you. They knocked you out. Held a gun to your head, then I had to drop mine to make sure they didn't shoot you."

"Who's they?"

"I don't know, the meth guys or whoever Angelo has here."

If she didn't know she was in a meth lab, she would have believed she was sitting within the compounds of a legitimate, scientific establishment. From the rows of tables with flasks and marked ingredients, to the large tank that graced the center of the ample room, it was neat and orderly with polished floors and a soothing blueish darkness that surrounded them. There was an eerie silence that encapsulated the area, that was marked with the loud hum of a machine in the background.

"Why the fuck didn't you shoot them?" she spat towards him in a harsh, hushed tone, furrowing her brows at him.

Hunter sighed however, retaining his poise. "Because they were going to fucking kill you."

"Nice, blame this all on me why don't ya? Wait til Mistah J hears about this."

"It won't matter if we're dead, will it?"

Pressing her lips together securely, Harley's mouth curved into a frown, her fingers fumbling with together behind her back. "I can't believe how fucking composed you are right now. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I didn't exactly have getting killed on the to-do list today, Harley," he retorted, a roll to his eyes. "But I don't really have much say in the matter."

Fuming through her nostrils, she sighed as she leaned back against her seat, her fingers grappling at the rope around her waist. As she fumbled through the layers, she felt her breath cease when she latched onto the knot of the rope, grasping the ends of the rope. He looked at her with a raise to his dark brow as she carefully licked over her bottom lip.

"Hunter, I have an idea."

He chuckled, laced with sarcasm, shaking his head at her. "No way, no more ideas from you."

"Listen to me, Hunter!" she scowled towards him, now shifting in her seat as she struggled with the rope. "I can feel the knot around my waist. I'm gona untie it then get the fuck off this chair. Then you untie my hands with ya teeth, then I untie you." She lowered her head towards him. "Understood?"

He blinked at her repeatedly, a dribble of sweat gliding down his temple. "You're insane."

"You got any other ideas, hmm?"

She had begun to fidget restlessly in her seat, shifting her hips as she focused her concentration on manipulating the knot.

"Harley, you need to act natural. You're gona get us-"

"What's all the fuss over there?!"

As the low, male voice echoed in the room, Harley instantly stopped squirming in her chair, her body tensing as her gaze followed the source of the noise. At the top of the stairs, she saw a man in a black blazer and jeans. He was middle aged and white, his face clean shaven yet not void of soft creased wrinkles. Carefully he made his way down towards them, in which she and Hunter shared a timid glance.

His footsteps clamored as he approached them, the sound of his boots loud, lamenting, and dreadfully slow. Obscurely, Harley had began to finger the rope again, keeping her body still as she chipped at the knot with her nails. His shadow loomed over her as he stepped in between them, and there he guardedly knelt before her, his face inches from hers.

He smelled like chemicals, the stench harsh to her nose. He appeared overworked, exhausted, yet she could tell by his hair and the cologne he wore to mask the scent that he was paid handsomely, as well as the glistening whiteness of his teeth when he smirked at her.

"Angelo said we would be expecting some company. He didn't mention it'd be such a good-looking lady."

As he spoke, his fingers ventured over to her cheek, squeezing the apple of her flesh. He felt coarse against her skin, and she swallowed the painful lump at her throat, while her heart battered against her chest. She wanted to react-to scream, yell, spit in his face. To be rebellious and strong. However, at the moment, she had loosened the knot against her waist, feeling the rope alleviate against her body. Suddenly, a new feeling emerged, one that excited her, made her heart pound in another way.

At the strange man, she smiled, and giggled.

"Maybe we can do a trade? You let me and my friend go and I'll give ya something."

She took a quick glance down at her hips as she coyly separated her thighs, noticing Hunter rolling his jaw and throwing his head back, a dramatic sigh leaving his throat. The man before her took interest in her offer, however, eyeing her up and down with hungry eyes, his lips fumbling as he tried to choose between a smile and a frown.

"You know I can't negotiate with you, sweetheart."

She pouted her crimson lip, allowing her voice to fall low and inviting. "Why don't you come here and tell me that?"

And he listened to her, moving closer, and there she eyed the gun on his holster, the black metal shimmering in the gloominess. As she belt his breath hit her face, it was then when she freed herself of the loose rope, and with a loud grunt kicked him in the groin, driving the spike of her heel in the center of his body.

His groan echoed in the room, his body falling onto his back as he clutched at his genitals, his face distorted in misery. The rope fell off her as she stood hastily from the chair, and without hesitation, she kicked him again, in the same delicate spot, she kicked him repeatedly, and then kicked the gun out of his holster and across the floor, watching it slide down gracefully.

When she approached Hunter, his jaw was opened, squinting towards her with unbelieving eyes.

"Holy fuck, you did it."

"Shut up and fucking untie me!"

Turning around to have her back face him, Harley shoved her wrists into his face, feeling him bite down on her restraints, struggling to loosen them.

Yet, she saw her victim squirm on the floor, grunting as he began to lift himself up and glare at her angrily.

"Oh, you fucking bitch," he beamed lowly, locking eyes with her as he forced himself up to his feet.

"Hunter..." she spoke, looking over her shoulder. "You need to hurry-"

She heard him spit out the rope, gasping for breath. "Done!"

As she felt her wrists liberated from her restraints, she was instantly met with a blow to the face, sending her stumbling backwards but quickly regaining her composure. She could still see the gun sparkling on the floor, her focus maintained on getting the weapon before he was able to.

He went to hit her again and she dodged him, ducking from his large fist, and without another thought she kicked him again. His groan was boisterous, the sound ringing through her ears. As she through herself onto the floor, she latched onto the gun, grabbing the firearm with both hands, and yet she felt him grab her by the legs, pulling her brutally, his nails scratching at her thighs.

Yet, she didn't even think when she closed one eye and aimed directly at his head, pulling the trigger. With one single, roaring bullet, she watched it leave the gun and fire straight into his skull, the top of his head shattering, as blood gushed from the fresh, steep wound. She saw the life leave his eyes instantly, while his face stiffened and he fell onto his back, quickly surrounded by a pool of deep, black crimson.

For a few moments, she sat there, encircled by the blood, her chest rising and falling dramatically as she attempted to catch her breath. Heaving through her nostrils, she stood to her feet, trembling, as she kicked the body out of her way, though the corpse barely moved at her gesture. As she approached Hunter, the stranger's blood stained her shins and thighs, covering the white of her shoes. There were specks of splattered blood sprayed across her face.

Hunter could see the crazed look in her eyes, noticed her determined stance even as she went behind him and freed him of the rope around his waist and wrists. He stood swiftly, adjusting the collar of his blazer, and grabbed the gun out of Harley's hand.

She gasped at his action, trying to take the weapon back from him, back he held it high over his head.

"Give it back, Hunter! I'm the one who saved us!"

Instead he grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the stairs. "You're also the one who got us into this mess. Now let's go."

Before he could lead her further, however, a gunshot resonated in the room, and there Hunter hollered in pain, the gun falling from his grasp as it clanged to the floor.

It happened so quickly, Harley didn't know what was going on. She saw Hunter latch onto his elbow, blood seeping through his fingers, hunched over in agony. Then, she instantaneously found herself taken into the arms of a familiar stranger, felt the intimate coldness of metal pressed against her temple. When she saw the olive toned tan skin of the arm that laced around her waist, pushing her back against him, she heaved through her nostrils, her body compressing.

"Angelo," she hissed, not even trying to look at him. She kept her focus on Hunter, who tried to regain his composure and reach for the gun, but he was shot at again, the bullet piercing his opposing arm. As he wailed in pain, Harley flinched, feeling the gun to her head dig deeper against her skull.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Hunter," Angelo spoke, his voice loud yet serene. It was then when she felt him press his chin against her shoulder, feeling his hot breath hitting her cheek, scorching her flesh. Her lips parted, a light gasp fleeing her throat. "You don't want to get the both of you killed."

"Let him go, Angelo," she pleaded softly, turning her neck slightly to look at him. "It's me you want."

She was met with his face, only inches from her own. He was sweaty, wide-eyed, breathing heavily from his nostrils.

"Don't worry," he promised her, retaining his same, solemn poise. "He's free to go. But you're staying with me."

"No, I can't leave Harley here," Hunter tried to argue, shaking his head, attempting to straighten his posture. "J will kill me-"

In a matter of an instant, the gun left Harley's head and it was then when she felt the excruciating pain when the bullet shot and fired into her ankle. Her scream was loud, curdled, tears welling in her eyes, as she lost her balance. Angelo held onto her tightly, however, keeping her from falling. As she felt her shoe fill with blood, she could feel the bullet lodged in her muscle, pulsating from the intense pain. It was like nothing she ever experienced before. It was hot and burning and unending.

"Just go, Hunter!" she yelled at him, her voice cracking. "Go get J!"

Angelo laughed however, resuming the tip of the gun against her skull once more. It was hot on her flesh. "Yes, go bring J here. Tell him I'm waiting for him."

She saw Hunter stall, his lips pressing together firmly. Yet, as Angelo caressed the trigger once more, he swiftly ran up the stairs and out of the room, leaving Harley alone with him.

His grip on her was harsh, his fingers shoveling in her skin as he held her, and he was harsh even as he threw her back onto the chair, causing her to fall off before she could sit down, stumbling painfully as she attempted to lift herself onto the seat, the blood from her heeled sneaker seeping out from the top of the shoe.

Deep, controlled breaths fled her throat, yet they emerged more as gasps, as she tried to fight through the pain, through the tremendous anxiety that engulfed her. As she sat on the chair, she held onto the bottom of the seat, eager to keep her back straight, her posture stern. Almost too casually, Angelo pulled the opposing chair towards her, taking a seat with his legs opened, leaning forward with a hunch.

It was the first time she was faced with him, directly, alone, and at his mercy. He appeared crazed, sleepless, dirty, his neat hair now ruffled, his white shirt covered in dirt and blood. His stare at her was fierce, yet almost unreadable. She couldn't tell what was running through his mind, what his plans were. But she maintained his eye contact, staring him down, trying her best to control her breathing.

As he bit down on his nails, he furrowed his brows towards her, pointing his gun at her once more, albeit a bit lazily. "My last twenty four hours have been really fucked up, Harley Quinn," he spoke slowly.

She shrugged at him however. "Oh yea? So have mine."

"Sorry I'm going to have to kill you. But there's a certain moral code I live by. An eye for an eye, if you've heard of it."

"I have, and so has Mistah J. If you remember, it's what he was following initially." As she raised her brows at him, he chuckled in response, aiming the firearm at her more precisely now.

"I'll admit it to ya, I did screw your boyfriend over. But he had no business taking Alexandra from me. She was not part of the deal. He had no right taking her from me."

There she saw the passion in him ignite, and assertively she sunk a little in her seat. "I didn't know the mafia was involved in the meth market."

He cocked his head to the side. "They're not. But I know where the money's at."

"So that man I killed? Who was he? Was he your producer?"

"One of many, doll," he replied.

"What's his name? Who was he? I want to know."

"Why does that matter to you? What's it to you who you killed? Would it make you feel better if you knew he was a horrible person? Or how would you feel if he had a family? Hasn't J gotten you immune to killing, yet? Or do you still have some sense of morality left in you?"

As he held the gun with both hands before her head, she felt her heart beat quicken.

"That's the difference between me and J," he continued, his voice growing more profound. "I'm actually fucking human, and he is just a sick monster."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Angelo?" she spoke back, her tone calmed yet solemn. "Why are you sitting here with me, waiting to die? Why are you stalling? You know J will be here. Do you even know what he did to your house-"

"I'm not afraid to die, doll," he interrupted her, leaning back against his seat. He looked up dreamily for a moment, a low chuckle reverberating in his throat. "There's nothing more he can take from me. But there's something I can take from him before that time comes."

He glared at her once more, their eyes meeting direly.

"I was Mistah J's doctor at Arkham Asylum," she explained. "He kidnapped me, fried my brains, threw me in acid. He beats the shit out of me almost daily. I am disposable to him. You are right, the Joker is a monster. There's nothing you can do to break his soul. He don't got no fucking soul. You are wasting your time."

"But Harley, inside the darkness of the beast resides a sliver of light." He lifted both brows at her. "And you are that light."

"I ain't shit," she spat out.

"Why do you take your worth for granted, huh? You should relish in it. You are the Achilles heel. You are the weakness to the devil himself."

"J's infatuation for me has nothing to do with love. He's used me and now that I have worn out my use, he will have no problem with you killing me." She smiled now, eerily, pressing her knees together as the pain in her ankle continued to throb relentlessly. "You failed, Angelo. And now you're gona die a pathetic, failed widower."

"I know you're wrong, Miss Quinn," he replied carefully. "You know you're wrong. He took the love of my life. And now I'm gona take his. And I want him to watch."

There, she breathed out fiercely through her nose, a scowl forming onto her expression. "J didn't kill Alexandra." With a single deep breath, she observed his sudden bewildered state, and she finished. "I did."

He did not immediately respond to her remark, as he seemed puzzled, then angered, and then confused once more. She noticed his posture stiffen, his eyes widen. "What did you just say?"

"I said I killed Alexandra," she repeated loudly, her voice dominating the room. "I killed that fucking bitch!"

And she was met with the sensation she had grown accustomed to, the smashing of the gun against her jaw, pounding repeatedly at her face. Yet, with Angelo there was no mercy, no underlying gentleness that was present in J's beatings. No, he was possessed with a murderous, poisonous rage, furious grunts escaping his mouth as he manically and feverishly pounded at her. As she tried to block the attached with her arms, she fell to the ground, unable to support herself, and there she felt him kick at her stomach. She groaned from the pain, tears streaming down her face and burning the cuts on her skin. Pain had consumed her entire body, became her entire existence. It almost felt soothing, comforting, as if she were finally reaching the end.

He was relentless, rough, hitting her harder each time, ignoring her cries, her tears, her blood. He was screaming incoherently, crying Alexandra's name, his voice cracking and trembling as he spoke. She found herself laughing, however, loudly and erratically, and the sound of her giggles consumed the room. Her gesture urged him on, to hit her harder, more frenzied. And she continued to laugh, endlessly, with a savage ferocity.

As black spots began to blur her vision, her ears were met with the beautiful, harmonious sound of machine guns firing. The beating had ceased, and she laid on the floor, sprawled on her back, extending her arm as blood trickled from her mouth down her chin and neck. She lied there blissfully for only a moment, listening to the musicality of the gunfire blasting and filling the space.

But immediately she was grabbed by Angelo, forced to her feet, yet unable to find the strength to support herself. Yet, he held her, as before, gun pressed securely against her head, ready to face the fight that lied ahead.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

She tasted the blood that leaked in her mouth, the metallic liquid thick against her tongue. Her vision was compromised, the room spinning, the firing of the bullets loud and pounding at her ear drums. Everything seemed surreal, majestic. She fought the urge to pass out, unable to submit herself to the darkness. There was too much noise, too much excitement, too much chaos.

Angelo's grip on her was fatal, squeezing her mercilessly, holding her against him with such a fierceness she felt the blood in her arms stop circulating. His breath hit her neck heavily, swiftly, hot and burning her skin. She could feel him tremble with rage, shaking as he held her, his grasp on her growing stronger with each desperate second.

And she saw him: her glorious savior, the love of her life, the beat of her heart. Every single time she looked at him, it felt like the first time. How he managed to capture her, control her, make her lose her mind at the sight of him. Three of them had burst into the room from the top of the stairs, blasting their guns, making their way down with an agile swiftness, the clamor of their feet rambunctious and roaring.

He reminded her of an angel, with the pale brightness of his flesh. His chest was revealed in its entirety, nude and bare with his tattoos etched onto his skin, while a heavy purple snake skinned trench coat draped his frame, thick gold chains hanging from his neck, black slacks snug at his hips. The green hue of his glossed back hair shone in the blueish tint of the vicinity. He appeared clairvoyant, and oh the look on his face once he saw her. The furor and the madness that consumed him once their eyes locked, when he placed his fingers in his mouth and blew a loud, clean whistle, causing the others to stop shooting, yet continue to hold their weapons steadily, ready to begin again at any moment.

She recognized Drake and Jonny, however Hunter was not with them.

"J!" she called out, her voice cracking as she screamed his name. As she squirmed in Angelo's grasp, he pressed the gun more compactly against the temple of her head, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Fucking damn it, Harley!" he yelled after her as they began to carefully circle them. He lifted his gun towards Angelo, a slow lick to his dark crimson lips. "I fucking told you to stay out of trouble! Look what you've gotten us into now!"

"I'm so sorry, J! I'm so sorry." She didn't realize she had begun crying now, tears spilling relentlessly down her bruised and bloodied face, stinging the open wounds on her cheeks, mixing with the trickles of blood that stained her flesh. She saw his expression towards her soften, yet he was still stiff, almost emotionless. And she felt her anxiety heighten, the tip of the gun hot on her skin, feeling the pressure of Angelo's finger against the trigger, ready to shoot. She could be dead at any moment, any second, without warning.

She expected a lot more dialogue, yet the solemn stare down between J and Angelo spoke more than any words could convey. She could see the hate in the Joker's eyes, the pure concentration and conflict that flickered in his irises.

"This is it, Angelo," he finally spoke, lowering his gaze. "Play time's over. Put her down and I might go easy on finishing you off."

Harley stiffened as she felt the gun slide down her temple, pressed onto her neck. "Careful, J. One wrong move and I take out your goomah."

She saw how tense J was, unable to laugh, to unveil his truly maniacal lunacy as he tended to do in these fatal circumstances. He was peculiarly focused, a glassiness to his eyes. "Put her down, Angelo." His voice was loud, clean, and articulated.

"First I need you to get your boys out of here," Angelo replied, repositioning the gun against Harley's chin, underneath her jaw line. As she felt the metal glide against her skin, she gulped, trying to stand on her feet without support, but her ankle continuing to throb in pain, her foot squishing from the blood that filled her shoe.

The three of them held their guns with a straight aim towards him. They could have taken him out easily, to end this whole thing. But the gun held at her head was keeping them from succeeding. She very well in fact ended up being the bait. But not for Angelo. No, she was the bait used against J. And from the bitter silence that consumed the space, it appeared that the Italian's method was successful.

"I ain't negotiating with you, Angelo," J replied after a moment of solitude. "Now let her go."

His reaction was quick, and there he slid the gun to the meat of her shoulder, firing the gun rapidly into her flesh.

Her scream echoed in the room-so loud and shriveling, then transforming into a series of sharp gasps. She wanted to fall to the ground but he continued to hold her up, not allowing her to succumb to a peaceful state, forcing her to retain her bitter awareness. The pain that emitted from her shoulder was unbearable, a heavy blotch of blood staining her jacket. She could feel the bullet lodge deep into her muscle, just as the other one had. The tears were uncontrollable as they fell down her cheeks, trailing over her neck. She couldn't stop gasping, unable to stand without him holding her up like his puppet.

And in the next moment, when J and his boys were ready to shoot at him, Angelo was quick to shoot her again, this time in her thigh, directly into this thick mass of her front quadricep muscle. Like an animal he shot at her, quick and compassionless, not spending a moment to consider, blocking out her cries and wails and screams. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. Her entire being, her existence, was consumed by absolute horrible pain. She didn't want to be alive anymore, she didn't want to continue feeling this unrelenting torment. As she gave J a hopeful look, she begged that he would just shoot at Angelo, to allow him to kill her, for this to all be over.

When she felt the gun take it original position back to her skull, she closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate.

"Drake, Frost. Drop ya guns and get out."

At the sound of his voice, her eyes shot open, her body shaking, while blood poured down her leg, gushing out of her flesh. As J continued to hold his firearm firmly, she saw Drake and Frost give each other a baffled glance, hesitant to surrender their weapons.

"But Boss," Frost tried to reason with him, "I don't think-"

"Drop your fucking guns!"

His demand was loud, terrifyingly passionate. She shook her head however as she watched them slowly place their machine guns on the ground, taking several steps back.

"J, don't! Don't listen to him! Don't do this!"

Her pleading was unanswered however, and as Frost and Drake cautiously vacated the room, J and Angelo focused on each other still. The Joker's gun aimed directly at Angelo; Angelo's gun smashed against Harley's forehead. The tension between the two men was strong, captivating. The focus, the deadly intensity, she could feel it pulsing through her veins. And she could foresee there was no possible good ending for this showdown.

"Put your gun down, J," Angelo spoke lowly, almost in a whisper. Harley's face scowled in anguish, begging J with her expression to not give into him.

He didn't reply however, but stood still, holding his firearm, staring at him eagerly.

"Put your gun down," Angelo repeated, a little more firmly.

As he continued to remain in his stance, Harley's heart began to pound against the walls of her chest. It seemed he graced the Joker with a little more time to heed to his demand, the seconds feeling like hours as they all stood in their positions. She wanted to do something to free herself, to overcome the situation. But one move and she was dead.

However, when Angelo cocked his head to the side, she grimaced, closing her eyes to prepare for another round of agony, her body tightening in defense. The bullet delved into the thick flesh of her upper arm, and though she prepared herself for the impact, the shot stunned her. As she screamed a blood curdling, shrieking yelp, more tears fled her eyes, drenching her face. And she found that she was unable to scream anymore, unable to even exhale now. Graciously she gasped for air, her body trying to fall down, but he wasn't allowing her. The bullet felt like hot charcoal burrowed in her tendons, the blood warm as it stained her skin and clothing. She couldn't take this anymore, couldn't stand the pain. She couldn't dare watch any more of J's uncertainty, of him trying to decide what he wanted to do. For him to risk his life to possibly save her, when her fate was inevitable no matter what the outcome.

"Do it, J!"she shrieked desperately. "Shoot him! Do it now! Shoot the son of a bitch!" And she wouldn't stop yelling, ceasing to beg. "Shoot him! Shoot him!"

And just as it seemed he would do what she knew was the right thing-there she was able to at last exhale, to release her anxious breath. And she knew this was the end of her life.

But instead she saw J unclasp his fingers, retaining his stance, as the gun dropped from his hands, clamoring onto the ground.

She shook her head vehemently, disbelieving at what he had done, finding the energy to struggle in Angelo's grasp. "No! No, J! No! Don't!"

Angelo's chuckle vibrated against her ear, and despite J's cooperation, he continued to hold her, refraining from bestowing any mercy. The gun remained plastered onto her head.

"I'm wondering, J, how do you think this is going to end now?" he asked him, leaning his head to the side. J didn't answer, but stared at him intently, his hands curling into trembling fists.

"Do you think I'm gona let her go? Do you think you saved her?" He paused. "Do you think I don't have a car outside the back waiting for me to finish you off and get the fuck out of here? Did you really think I had no plan to take care of the both of you?"

When she saw the gun leave her head and point directly at J, the color drained from her eyes. And everything from there happened so quickly, it was hard for her to comprehend exactly what took place in what order.

The moment Angelo pointed the gun at him, J ducked to grab his gun from the ground. And as Angelo pulled the trigger, that was when the true extent of Harley's insanity was unleashed. All of the pain that she felt had vanished, replaced by the fervor of her intense adrenaline pumping viciously through her veins. For, as Angelo pressed down onto the trigger, releasing a single bullet, Harley grunted as loud as her tired throat would allow, and with all the remaining strength welled up inside her, she smashed her forehead against Angelo's, forcing him to mis-aim the gun as he shot, as well as sending him stumbling backwards, releasing his hold on her.

However, she heard J groan powerfully, witnessing him falling to his knees, hit by the bullet.

And there she lost her mind.

Before Angelo could recompose himself, she sent a swift, profound kick at his abdomen, stabbing her heel into his flesh. As he fell back, he shot the gun into the air, grunting heavily as his head hit the ground. But she stepped on his wrist before he could aim towards her, digging the spike of her heel into his veins. As he screamed from the pain, his eyes closed in anguish, his expression distorted. And she reveled in his misery as she stood before his suffering form. Harder she pressed down, and there she saw she broke his skin, and he released the gun, the weapon falling to the floor.

With a mad frenzy she began to kick at him senselessly, losing herself in the beating, finding a crazed sensation of joy well up inside her. The more she hit him, the more amazing she felt, and the more fierce was became towards him. As she dug her heel into the hollowness of his neck, she watched him choke for air, trying to gasp for breath, observing his eyes widen and become red, his tan complexion draining from his face. It was so glorious watching the life leave from his eyes.

But as she saw him try to reach for his gun, she removed her foot from his neck and straddled him, locking her knees at his hips, her blood leaking and staining his clothes.

With a dangerous rapidity did she grab the gun, holding the handle with both hands. And at that moment, she stared at him, relishing in the fear that plagued his eyes, his mouth opening to beg for his life but no words able to come out.

She only allowed herself that short moment to look at him, to witness his life placed in her hands now. And with a final wink, her swollen lips curving into a smile, her finger pulled at the trigger, sending a bullet straight into the center of his forehead. As she felt his blood splatter onto her face, it was clear he was dead on impact, his body going limp beneath her, life void from his eyes as they remained opened, a sliver of blood trailing from the corner his agape mouth.

But it wasn't enough for her, it was too easy, too simple. She shot him in the face again. And again. And again. More blood and pieces of his flesh plunging onto her. A ferocious mania consumed her as she shot at his face repeatedly, until he became an unrecognizable mush of skin and bone. Blood painted the floor beneath them, a massive puddle engulfing their forms. And even as the gun ran out of bullets, Harley continued to pull the trigger, her eyes wide and trembling as she aimed at his dismantled head. For minutes she sat there, the repetitive click of the gun soothing her, until she finally dropped it onto his chest, her breaths heavy and slow.

When she heard footsteps approach her, she looked up, her vision hazy. She began to sway side to side, trying to keep herself from fainting. She saw Drake and Frost approach her, but she pushed them away at their attempts to aid her. A hysteria had overtaken her, her eyes filling with tears as she threw herself off the corpse, falling to her knees.

"Where's Mistah J? Is he ok? Where is he?"

When she felt a tall shadow loom over her, she snapped her neck towards the source, blinking repeatedly to make sure her gaze wasn't deceiving her.

"Puddin?" she cried softly, furrowing her brows. She saw him wince as he knelt towards her, his trench coat stained with blood at the front of his shoulder. Upon seeing the extent of his wound, she sighed in relief, allowing him to take her in his arms, lifting her off the ground.

As her mania cooled, there she began to feel the extent of her injuries, each gunshot wound pulsing with abhorrent pain. She could no longer support herself, allowing J to hold her, supporting her back and knees, while her arms lazily wrapped around his neck.

"It hurts so bad," she sobbed, moaning at the intense, pulsating pain. As her eyes began to roll to the back of her head, her lids fluttering, J shook her.

"Don't fall asleep," he ordered. "We have to get you checked out." She took a moment to inhale at the skin of his neck, the scent of his strong cologne soothing her momentarily. She was covered in so much blood. A lot of her own, a lot more from Angelo.

She tried her hardest to stay awake, as J handed her over to Frost, who held her securely, while J and Drake grabbed at the machine guns on the ground.

As they headed towards the stairs, Harley managed to tug at Drake's blazer as he passed them. When their eyes met, she looked at him huskily, her breathing dainty. "They have a car in the back," she spoke softly, her look towards him turning grave. "Go blow up those fuckers."

He stared at her oddly for a moment, before nodding slowly, looking at J briefly for approval.

"You heard her," he barked. "Get the fuck out there!"

She was so dazed and weak, she didn't fully realize when she had been carried outside, the moonlight hitting her form. She found a small panic consume her however, and she began to squirm in Jonny's grasp, murmuring Hunter's name, struggling to breathe.

"Where's Hunter? We have to find Hunter. He was shot. We have to find Hunter."

"Relax, Harley. He's in the car. He's going to be fine."

She felt a soothing relief consume her when she smelled the familiar leather of Hunter's car, as well as hearing his voice in the background. But everything was beginning to go dark, and she was struggling to keep herself awake.

She was shoved in the back seat alone, that is until she felt the comforting strong form of J beside her, holding her up, giving her a solid shake. Her eyes were half-way opened, drooping closed, yet opening quickly again as she attempted to remain alert. She could feel the car driving, speeding away, causing their bodies to bump in their seats as the engine roared obnoxiously. As J held her against him, she sighed dreamily.

"Frost, call Amir now. We need to take Harley to him."

She heard J speak and she smiled, while he tugged on her pigtail, forcing her to open her eyes as he brought her face to his.

"I said stay awake," he told her sternly.

And here she could see the true extent of his emotion. What he tried to conceal so well was visible to the world at that moment. She witnessed the immense concern in his eyes, the blue of his irises deep and glassy. As he stared at her bloodied, bruised face, she saw a single, minuscule tear leave his eye, only traveling halfway down his cheek before dissolving, erasing itself from existence.

It was such a tiny, otherwise insignificant moment, but it touched her deeply, tugging at her heart, filling her with the will to keep herself awake no matter how painfully difficult the task was.

"Oh, Puddin," she sobbed, tears fleeing her eyes mercilessly and drenching her cheeks. "I'm so happy."

As she hugged him, his arm crept around her waist, embracing her tenderly.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he retorted, attempting to reestablish his power and position over her. "If you weren't shot ten times already I would take matters into my own hands."

She giggled weakly at his comment however. "I'm happy because I know you love me," she wearily cooed.

He hesitated. "I'm gona forgive the stupid shit you're saying right now because you're shot. But you better watch your mouth."

Remaining silent, she smiled however, resting her head against his chest, focusing on him to distract herself from the pain.

After an uncanny silence, she could feel J stiffen, a dire aura radiating from him.

"Hunter, why the _fuck_ were you here with Harley?"

Her vision still grainy, she could see that Frost was driving Hunter's Mercedes, while Hunter sat in his passenger's seat, clutching at his arm. He remained still however, hesitant to answer.

"Boss," he began slowly, glancing at the rear view mirror. She could see his uneasy eyes. "I was framed."

Before he could continue, Harley weakly interjected. "Puddin, please don't be mad at him. It was all my fault. I forced him out here. Now we're both shot and we learned our lesson so can you please just forget about it?"

She knew he wanted to argue, to enforce his authority and do something insane like shoot Hunter dead on the spot. She could see the mad ferocity in his eyes, hear the low hum of a growl in his throat. His boys thought he had gone soft because of her. And if he adhered to her frail plea, he would only be proving that theory correct.

But she also saw him contain his fervor, pursing his lips.

"You get one freebie, boys," he shouted towards the men in the front. "You can thank Harley for that. But next time either of you mess up I won't be so generous."

Smiling softly, she was no longer able to contain her consciousness, her eyes slowly closing as her body fell limber. She felt J begin to shake her once more, but she couldn't find the energy to open her eyes, keep herself alert. She found herself consumed by the blackness that had been trying to take her, her eyes falling shut, her breathing becoming hollow.

But she could still feel him shaking at her, yelling for her to snap out of it.

"Harley! Harley, stay awake! God damn it, Harley! Frost, take us to Amir now!"

He was shaking her violently now, but she was unresponsive to his rough gesture, her head heavy and unable for her to support its weight.

And as she drifted away out of consciousness, she could hear the faint sound of an explosion in the background, behind J's voice and Frost simultaneously speaking to a doctor on the phone. Taking place perhaps a mile away, at an abandoned factory, where a meth lab once resided.

~oOo~

For the first two weeks she had been absolutely bedridden.

Barely able to move, covered in bandages, doped on pain killers. It was the most painful two weeks of her life. Recovering from gunshots was even more painful than receiving them. She had regained consciousness during the extraction of the bullets, the pain so unbearable she begged to be knocked out again. She barely saw J for the first two weeks, as he was out on more jobs to get even with the mafia, the war not yet over yet between them.

He would send his men to keep an eye on her, and during the night she would see him, when he would check up on her. They would not be intimate again for another two months, but their encounters in the nights were more connecting to her, as she would wake from bad spells of pain from her recovering injuries, or nightmares from the night in question. He would be there beside her, ready to tend to her, give her her medication to numb the pain and help her sleep.

The experience brought them closer together, yet she knew that even though Angelo was dead and the lab destroyed, there was still a threat against them. And it would always be there. And as they partook in more dangerous, illegal, murderous escapades, they would garner more enemies. Those who would be far worse. But they would face those obstacles together.

A month into her recovery, Harley laid in bed, her head propped up against several pillows. Blankly, she stared at the cartoons on the television, her mind wandering as her eyes began to flutter shut. As her head leaned against her shoulder, she was disturbed by the sound of the front door opening, and there she quickly pulled the blankets over her body, to concealed her barely covered form. When she heard a knock at her door, soon after, she flinched.

"Come in," she bellowed, pulling herself up to from the pillows to sit, hugging the blanket at her chest.

As the door creaked opened, she saw Frost peak out from the crack. "Are you decent?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have said come in, wouldn't I?" she hissed back, a dramatic roll to her eyes. As she witnessed him walk into the room, she noticed a bouquet of crimson red roses in his grasp. They were a sharp contrast to the darkness of his black suit, seemingly the only source of color to him.

"Oh Jonny," she giggled weakly as he approached her bed, presenting the flowers to her. "Did ya get these for me?"

"These are from J," he corrected her smugly, to which she took the gift from him, hugging the roses at her chest, breathing in their sweet, delicate scent.

"That is so sweet! This is the best day ever."

He watched her relish in the beauty of the blossoms, walking towards the door. "I'll get you some water for those."

Noticing him about to depart, she called out to him. "Jonny...wait."

As he turned around he eyed her carefully, resuming to the bed as he looked down at her tired form, rubbing at the hair at his chin.

She smiled at him, however, grabbing a single rose stem and extending it towards him.

"Peace offering," she gushed, bestowing upon him a playful wink.

He chuckled at her offer, taking the rose from her. "So you aren't pissed at me anymore?"

"Nah. I'm over it now. I guess we can be best friends after all."

And there he stared at the crazy girl laying in bed, her hair frazzled, bandages wrapped over several gunshot wounds throughout her body. Yet, she seemed so content hugging flowers from the Joker, as if it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

"You are quite the character, Harley Quinn," he noted, lifting the rose in acceptance of her offering, nodding in her direction. "I hope the Boss decides to keep you around for a long time."

She smiled as he walked towards the door, sinking back into her pillows dreamily.

"Don't worry, Jonny. I ain't going nowhere."

~oOo~

She could feel her bare thigh rub against the white leather of the seat as she crossed her legs, swinging her foot while she leaned into the couch, the friction of the fabric against her skin causing a light burn . The music pulsed against her ear drums, a light chill taking her, trickling over the length of her spine. Moving several strands of curled locks behind her ear, she glanced at the man sitting beside her, as he sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, chin perched upon his intertwined fingers. He seemed relaxed, confident, even rather smug. But as crossed her arms over her chest, her magenta hued lips tugged at a frown, her nose wrinkling in frustration.

"You better kill him, Mistah J," she spoke lowly, almost in an order.

He turned slowly to look at her, lifting his brows bones, the skin under his eyes dark and sunken. "Baby, we're having a nice night. Why ruin it with bloodshed, hmm?"

She saw his grill glisten as he grinned towards her, the sliver glimmering in the dimmed yellow lighting. And as he reached his hands between her thighs, his fingers slid up into her dress, his skin warm against her, smoothing his hand along the inside of her inner thigh. She didn't welcome the gesture, yet she did not rejected him, rolling her eyes as she glanced away from him.

"If you don't kill him, I will," she scoffed.

"I opened this club less than two weeks ago and already you want to get the floor dirty?"

He snatched his hand away from her, and she gasped lightly at the loss of heat and contact, unraveling her arms and looking towards him glumly. Her fingers dug into the fabric of the couch, her bare shoulders tensing.

"Mistah J, if you don't kill him, I ain't fucking you tonight."

His face grew cold as he turned his body towards her, pursing his lips as he rested his cheek against his palm. His eyes were deep, a piercing cerulean blue, while his lips a dark blood red. She observed the crease above his brow, across his Damaged tattoo, the concentration heavy in his eyes as he stared at her. She observed hot his white shirt hugged at the curves of his arms, the sleeves folded up to his elbows, showcasing the ink of his forearms bawdy gold bracelets dangling from his wrists. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel, the toned, tight alabaster skin of his chest visible, his collar crisp and ironed. His gun was latched openly onto his holster on the side of his abdomen, and as they gawked at one another, her gaze frequently flickered between his intense stare to the weapon on his body.

"Is that a threat, sugar?" He beamed, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards, a smirk devouring his lips.

"It's a promise, Puddin."

And there she felt him, lean into her, his breath warm as his mouth caressed her neck, the air leaving in hot puffs through his nostrils. She allowed herself to be engulfed in his scent, relishing in the smell of his cologne, radiating off his body. It was so strong and intense and powerful, just as he was.

"I guess this fucker's gona have to die then, won't he?" She felt his lips move against her neck, could feel him smile on her skin, causing her to return the token, her mouth curving into a toothy grin, her eyes narrowing.

He had pressed a wet kiss onto the side of her neck, his sultry spit dampening her skin, causing the center of her body to flex in a sharp contraction. As he began to kiss the area repeatedly, she uncrossed her legs, her eyes fluttering closed in a dreamy state. And soon the kisses transitioned to sucking, his mouth lingering over her flesh, swallowing her skin as he slipped his hand underneath her dress, sliding his palms upwards over her thighs, until he reached her groin.

But their moment was cut short, and swiftly J removed himself from her, forcing Harley to open her eyes, moaning at his sudden departure. There his posture straightened, as Jonny bombarded the private section of the night club, flicking his blazer. Soon after Drake and Hunter stumbled inside, dragging with them a young man. He struggled in their grasp, grunting as they yanked him to the center of the area, displaying him towards the couple.

"This the guy, boss?"

J stroked his chin at Frost's inquiry, turning his head towards Harley. "What about it, babe? Is this the fella who's bothering you?"

She scowled as she stared the man down, remembering him from less than twenty minutes ago. Coyly, her arms folded over her chest, her knees pressing together.

"Yes, Mistah J. That's him. That's the guy who grabbed my ass!"

He didn't seem so hot now, as he was held by the two henchmen. And as he locked eyes with J, she saw his complexion turn pale, his body stiffen. He suddenly knew the great extent of the trouble he had gotten himself into, his mouth falling agape.

Such a shame, he was so young. And rather handsome. She couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, pity him for his monumental fuck-up. And as she saw J rise from his seat, she pressed her lips securely, trying to maintain her grave expression, for she was then tempted to smile.

He approached the young man casually, a gimp to his step. The fear in his brown eyes glistened, and as he was faced with the Joker, he stopped resisting the men who detained him, his form uncannily still.

J was dangerously close to him now, his look towards the man grave, yet relaxed. Pressed his forehead against his, he heaved a fierce breath onto his face. She watched the scene with a tremendous sense of pride, leaning back into her seat haughtily, a dimple indenting into her cheek as she allowed her smile to envelope her face.

With a stern hand, J patted the young man's cheek, a crazed, manic glare sweeping his eyes.

"Is that true, sonny? Did you grab my lady's ass?"

"Mister Joker, please- I didn't know she was your girl! Please, you have to understand, I'm so-"

"Why you trying to apologize to me? I ain't the one whose ass was grabbed." And he laughed loudly, throwing his head back, clutching a palm at his chest. "No, you need to apologize to the lady. Beg for her forgiveness."

As he took a step to the side, he allowed her to face her harasser, and she watched him grovel before her, his knees quivering as the boys jerked him forward towards her.

"Miss, I'm so sorry," he spoke shakily. Yet she only shrugged at the sentiment, extending her arms over the top of the sofa, crossing her legs as she sunk into her seat.

"What do you say, honey? Should I go easy on him?" J asked her patiently, tugging harshly at the man's collar.

For a brief moment, she looked at the ceiling, allowing the beat of the music to fill her ears. She eagerly looked at her lover, running a hand through her hair.

"I ain't in the forgiving mood tonight," she spoke steadily, looking back at the captive man. She grinned devilishly, the smile engrossing her face.

Excitement filled her bones as she watched J clasp his hand onto his jaw, squeezing his cheeks together, smushing his lips.

"Sorry, bud. I put it into the lady's hands but she's not having it."

With his opposing hand she saw him reach for his gun, slipping it seductively out of his holster. The metal glimmered gloriously as he held it in his grasp, the reflection glittering in the young man's eyes. And oddly, the Joker began to pace around him, the gun lazily in his grasp. He shook his head in disappointment, it seemed, sighed as he placed a sentimental hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Too bad you didn't know whose ass you were grabbing. Who that ass belonged to." He lowered his gaze towards him, a sinister gleam in his eyes. As the young man quivered, his breaths were heavy and erratic "She got a real nice ass, don't she? Nice and _plump._ And _thick_." As he spoke, J tapped the gun against the man's mouth.

"If only you knew whose fucking perfect ass you snagged. The greatest piece of ass I've ever had. And you see why I can't let you get away with it, don't you? I don't like other people touching my things."

And she saw it: the jealousy that emitted from him as he spoke, any speck of humor fleeing his expression and composure. A fierce solemnity consumed him, emitting from his body. And it was all because of her - all this trouble and fuss, the rage that built up within him. He retained a disturbing possessiveness towards her, that even a peculiar glance in her direction would result in his overbearing jealousy.

But she enjoyed instigating him, found delight in his murderous furor, all reserved for her.

"I don't think I can live in a world knowing someone else is alive who touched that ass. Someone walking the streets who disrespected my lady. Just not the kind of world I feel good living in."

With one calm, collected motion, J shoved the gun into the gentleman's mouth, seeing his eyes grow wide, the sound of his scream muffled in his throat as J crammed the firearm inside him. As he licked his lips, a bead of sweat creased at his forehead.

He caressed the trigger, lifting the gun to bring the young man's head to his level, his whole body shaking madly, his eyes broad and bulging and sweat consumed his face, struggling to breath as the gun was deep into his mouth.

"I hope it was worth it, buddy."

She watched him smile, his grin beaming, a low chuckle humming in his throat. As he grinned, he grabbed onto the young man's neck, squeezing him firmly, and there she felt the satisfaction of what was about to occur overwhelm her, leaning forward, embracing her cheeks with excitement.

"Remember her name in the afterlife. Don't forget the glorious ass that ended your life."

He paused for a moment, massaging the trigger, a grin consuming his mouth.

"The one, the only, mother fucking Harley Quinn!"

As he shouted, a loud round of laughter rumbled from his throat; it was contagious, so much so that Harley found herself joining him, their hysterics consuming the private space. And amidst their madness, the trigger was pulled. But it didn't phase either of them-the blood and flesh that burst around them, splattering onto the Joker's clean white shirt- for they were absolutely absorbed in their own vexatious, utterly maddening hilarity.

A/N: That's it! It's over! Please let me know what you think overall. If there are any little details I should change. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! I'm so happy I was able to write this, as I hadn't written a single thing is 4 years! Have a great day everyone! :-)


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